


Before We Turn To Stone

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (yes it's both), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Flashbacks, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Warning: Mentions of Blood Transfusions, Warning: Mentions of Needles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Clarke is just trying to get through her last year of college after the suicide of her boyfriend the previous year.  When she's offered the opportunity to help with a restoration project at a nearby house rumored to be haunted, she leaps at the chance.  She finds herself drawn to a statue of a young woman who seems somehow familiar... and starts to question her sanity when the statue disappears and a girl who looks just like her appears in her place and memories of another life come flooding back, and they are faced with difficult choices about the the lengths they're willing to go to for love.Based onthis post.Content Warning:Later chapters contain mentions/descriptions of needles and blood transfusions.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Niylah, Luna/Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 313
Kudos: 680





	1. Prologue

All her life she had dreamed of fire. Fire and death and the end of the world.

Waking, she would draw her dreams... which had led to hours spent in a therapist's office until they had decided there was nothing wrong with her. She just had vivid dreams, and she would probably grow out of them.

She didn't grow out of them. She just learned to hide her drawings. 

When she was little she mostly just remembered the fire. When she got older, she knew that there were lives at stake, lives she could save if she just... what? That was the problem, and what woke her up gasping in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat and memory.

She could save them. Not all of them, but enough. Enough that the world wouldn't completely end. She knew how. She just had to give something up, something she valued more than anything. More, even, than her own life. 

She didn't know what that something was, or why she was so unwilling to give it up when the fate of humanity was on the line. 

_It's just a dream, Clarke,_ everyone told her. _The world isn't ending, and it's not your responsibility to save it._

Finn had told her that, when she'd jostled him awake with her thrashing too many nights in a row. He'd whispered those words, or ones very like them, and kissed her until she could breathe again, and then pulled her close and made her breathless in an entirely different way. 

She'd wanted to believe him. She'd wanted to believe a lot of the things he said, but then she found out that he already had a girlfriend back at home who he'd conveniently forgotten to mention. And maybe he'd never said she was his one and only, and maybe she'd never asked, and everyone knew what happened when you assumed... But if that was a lie, then why should she – how _could_ she – believe anything else?

And she couldn't let herself be that person, the one who let herself be deluded, so she walked away from the only comfort she had. 

She told herself he'd get over it. 

She told _him_ he'd get over it. _You already have a girlfriend, Finn. Go back to her, if she'll have you._

He didn't go back to her. 

He didn't get over it.

He killed himself. 

She'd met his girlfriend at the funeral. (Where Clarke knew she didn't belong, but she couldn't not go. She owed him at least that much, didn't she? Because he'd done it for her. That's what the note said.) Her name was Raven, and she was some kind of brilliant engineer already, even though she was still in school, with companies fighting over who would hire her when she graduated. Not that Clarke had known that then.

 _The note was bullshit,_ Raven had told her, not bothering to keep her voice down, and people had turned to glare at them and Raven had just stared them down with eyes like the edge of a blade, fierce in her grief, until they looked away. 

Clarke hadn't replied, or if she had, she didn't remember what she'd said. She'd thought she would never see or speak to the other girl – the other woman, but no, _she_ was the other woman, wasn't she? – again, but they'd kept crossing paths until it started to feel like maybe they were meant to, and they'd become friends, which was strange until it wasn't.

Fast forward six months. Senior year for Clarke, first year of grad school for Raven, and how pissed had potential employers been when she'd decided she wasn't done with school yet? They were still fighting over her, and the offers just kept coming, and climbing, and she would basically be set for life whenever she was ready to be. 

_Must be nice,_ Clarke told her, trying not to sound bitter and failing.

 _Well art isn't getting any younger,_ Raven had joked. Whatever that was supposed to mean. All Clarke knew (because her mother reminded her – not in words but in looks and sighs – every time they spoke) was that things were never going to be that easy for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been literally years in the making. I started it in 2016 and stopped writing sometime in 2018. I picked it up again this year, determined to finish, and it is finally seeing the light of day (or the full moon...), warts and all.
> 
> Chapters will be posted monthly, but unlike my other stories where I try to be consistent, they may vary widely in length. C'est la vie. This one, being a prologue, was particularly short, but hopefully it's got you intrigued enough to keep reading. 😊


	2. September

_**Waxing Moon**_

"Earth to Clarke Griffin!"

Her head snapped up, and she saw her professor giving her a pointed look. No, not her. Her desk. Which she'd drawn all over, the image spilling from her sketchbook onto the not-actually-wood surface. _Shit._

"Sorry," she mumbled, and shifted the sketchbook to cover it up. It was the tower again, the one with the flame on top, the one that had appeared in her dreams for as long as she could remember. It was important, that tower, but she didn't know how. She'd tried to reach it more than once in her dreams, to find out what secrets it was keeping, but no matter how long she walked she never got there. Some nights she didn't even get any closer, and she woke up with her legs aching.

"See me after class," he said, and went back to the lecture.

Clarke forced herself to pay attention, zipping all writing utensils into her backpack so she wouldn't be tempted to start drawing again, even though it also meant she couldn't take notes. It didn't matter; the PowerPoints were always posted on the class website anyway. When class was finally dismissed, she stayed in her seat and waited for everyone to file out, a few of them shooting her sympathetic looks. Professor Wallace had a reputation for being a hardass. Clarke guessed she was about to find out. 

He came over to her desk, handing her a bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and stood over her, watching, until she'd wiped away every last trace of graphite from the desk's surface (at least she hadn't been using a pen...) He silently took the paper towels and bottle back when she was finished, and she picked up her bag to go, assuming that would be the end of it.

"Wait," he said. "There's something else."

_What else could there possibly be?_ , Clarke wondered. There was no such thing as detention in college, and she was pretty sure that drawing something inoffensive on a desk and cleaning it up immediately afterward wasn't grounds for any kind of disciplinary action. 

"Have you ever heard of Trigeda House?"

"Yes sir," she said. Who _hadn't_ heard of Trigeda House? It was a creepy old mansion out on the edge of town that looked like it was maybe only a few years from being reclaimed by nature. As far as she knew, it had sat empty, abandoned, for as long as anyone could remember.

"Ah, good. Then I'm sure you've also heard about the recent restoration efforts."

She hadn't, but she'd been pretty preoccupied with other things lately. Like trying to forget the sight of her ex-boyfriend's body, soaked in his own blood... She blinked hard and shook her head.

Professor Wallace apparently took that as an answer to his question that wasn't a question. "Well then. A preservation society has taken interest in it, gotten it declared a historical site, and they're working to restore not only the exterior, but the interior as well, in the hopes of turning it into a museum of sorts. Its last owner was something of an art collector, so they reached out to the university to see if we might have any students interested in helping with the efforts. It would be considered an independent study, so you would get course credit for it, and they're also offering a small stipend. I thought—"

"Yes," Clarke said. "If you're asking if I'm interested, the answer is yes." Course credit without needing to attend a class was incentive enough; she was in danger of coming up short for graduating on time. But money on top of it? Show her where to sign.

"Excellent," he said, flashing a rare smile. "I'll give them your number and they'll be in touch. They're going to want you to start as soon as possible." He handed her a packet of papers. "This is what you'll need to fill out for the independent study. They'll be able to help you with the details. It needs to be turned in no later than the end of next week or you won't be able to get credit for this semester." 

"I'll make sure it gets done," she said. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said. "I warn you, it's not going to be easy."

"I wouldn't want it to be," Clarke said. She tucked the paperwork into her sketchbook and slid it into her backpack. "Thank you," she repeated, then ran for the café where she was supposed to have met Octavia for lunch ten minutes ago.

* * *

She was disappointed but not surprised to see that Lincoln was there with Octavia. They were practically inseparable these days, after spending most of the summer apart. Lincoln had gone to some disaster-ravaged country or other to help build houses (or maybe it was one of the states that just seemed like another country... Clarke was fuzzy on the details) and Octavia had stayed to take summer classes, hoping to graduate a year early and be done with it (and save herself money in the process). Clarke suspected she might also have stayed because she was concerned about Clarke in the aftermath of Finn's death, but she'd never said it, and Clarke didn't want to assume. (She also wasn't sure she could stomach the guilt of keeping her friend here when she would rather have been elsewhere.)

"I ordered for you," Octavia said, nudging a mug toward her. "I was tempted to get you one of those minty-mocha-chocolate-chip-fudgey-the-whale-caramel-deluxe-extra-whip things... but today doesn't feel like a good day to die so it's just cream and sugar, not too light or sweet."

"Thanks," Clarke said. "If I wanted a coffee-flavored milkshake, I would just go to the ice cream place."

Octavia grinned and sipped her own cavity-inducing concoction, getting whipped cream on her nose in the process, which of course Lincoln kissed off. Clarke was tempted to tell them to get a room but they might actually take her up on it, and she wanted to at least share her good news first. 

"So something awesome just happened," she said. 

Octavia turned her attention from her boyfriend back to Clarke. "Oh?"

"No, you're O, she's Clarke," Lincoln said, and they both rolled their eyes at his dumb joke. He just grinned. He was totally okay with having the lamest sense of humor ever, apparently.

" _Anyway,_ " Octavia said. "Do tell."

"My professor just told me about a... not really an internship, but something like that. Independent study credit and a stipend, and it sounds like it might be for the whole year. Up at Trigeda House. He said they're restoring it." She pulled her sketchbook out of her backpack to look over the paperwork Professor Wallace had given her.

"Isn't that place, like, super haunted?" Octavia asked. 

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Seriously, O? It's just an old house. There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Tell that to the people who swear that they see lights up there the night of the full moon every month," Octavia said, "when there's been no electricity for years. Possibly decades."

"If there's no electricity, then how are there lights?" Clarke asked. 

"That's the question, isn't it?" Octavia asked. "I guess it's probably candles or oil lamps or something."

"It's probably just kids messing around," Clarke said. "Isn't that what kids do as, like, a rite of passage? Break into the creepy old house in town? Maybe that's how their friends know they did it – they have to light a candle or shine a flashlight or something."

"Maybe," Octavia said, but she didn't sound convinced.

"You grew up around here," Clarke said, looking at Lincoln. "Is that something kids do?"

Lincoln shook his head. "Not that I ever heard about, and considering I was on the football team, and they're the most testosterone-driven, Truth or Dare But Skip the Truth people you'll ever meet, if it was a thing I'm pretty sure I would have not only heard about it, but been made to do it."

"Okay, fine. But there has to be some kind of rational explanation. Where did you even hear that, O? From someone whose friend's sister-in-law's nephew's second-cousin-twice-removed saw it once?"

"Fuck you," Octavia said, and not in a joking way. "We were out there– not at the house but nearby – and I saw it. Myself. With my own eyes."

"What were you—" Clarke started, then shook her head. "Never mind." She didn't want to know what Octavia and Lincoln had gotten up to, or where they'd gotten up to it, back in the days when Octavia was still hiding the relationship from her brother. "Maybe it was just a trick of the light."

"There _was_ no light," Octavia said. 

"You said it was the full moon!"

"It was cloudy, though," Octavia said. "It was the night of the full moon, but you couldn't actually see it. Anyway, I can tell the difference between the light of the moon reflecting off a window and a light coming from _inside_ the house."

"Fine," Clarke said. "So what? I need this job. Internship. _Thing._ I need the credit and I need the money. I ain't afraid of no ghosts." She flashed a smile, hoping to get back on Octavia's good side, because her friend was more than capable of making life miserable if she wanted to. 

"That's a double negative," Octavia pointed out.

"It's also the tag line from Ghostbusters," Clarke said. "C'mon, O. It's not going to be a big deal."

"Famous last words," Octavia muttered.

* * *

Clarke had no idea what she should bring with her, or what she should wear (the only instruction she'd been given was 'nothing you don't want to get dirty') to her first day at the Trigeda House project. She finally settled on some old but not too old jeans and a comfy worn-in flannel. She wrapped a scarf around her neck even though it wasn't that cold and pulled her hair back into a messy bun to get it out of her face, and made the trek across town, and then up the long, overgrown driveway up to the mansion. 

The front steps creaked so sharply when she put her weight on them that Clarke worried for a second that her foot might go straight through. Thankfully they held, and she picked up the ring of the knocker and banged it twice, then stood back.

She heard a muffled voice from inside shouting something that sounded like, "Hold on, I'm coming!" followed by a thud, a crash, and cursing before the door finally opened. 

"Sorry about that," the woman on the other side said. "You must be Clarke. I'm Maya. It's a pleasure to meet you. Come on in." She stepped aside to let Clarke pass, and Clarke suspected the scattered boxes on the floor had been stacked up until a few seconds ago. She took Maya's outstretched hand and shook it, then went to pick up the boxes. 

"Oh, thank you," Maya said. "You don't have to do that."

"It's what I’m here for, isn't it?" Clarke asked, smiling. "To help get things in order?"

"Yes," Maya said. "Although your primary focus is going to be on the art. There's a lot of it, and although I can tell you what I like and what I don't, I can't actually tell what's valuable and what's not. Not that that's necessarily going to be what we make decisions based on as far as what gets displayed and what gets stored, but it would be nice to know. And if there's anything that needs any kind of restoration... Dante... I mean Mr. Wallace, Professor Wallace to you, did mention that you had some experience with art restoration?"

Clarke nodded. "Some, yes." She didn't say how much, because she didn't want Maya, or anyone else associated with this project, changing their minds about her.

"Excellent. Let me give you a tour, and then we can develop a plan of action for how we can best tackle this. It's going to be a big project, and I expect it's going to take all year. I hope you're willing to commit for the long haul, but I understand if—"

"I don't have a problem with it taking all year," Clarke said quickly. _The more credits I can get without having to be around people, the better._ Octavia accused her of having become a recluse after Finn's death, but Clarke didn't agree. Maybe she didn't go out as much as she used to. Maybe she'd rather spend her evenings at home with Netflix and a cozy blanket than go out to a bar, but so what? She invited people over to join her sometimes; it still counted as being social. And what did Octavia know, anyway? It wasn't like _she_ had ever been The Girl Whose (Ex) Boyfriend Killed Himself. She didn't know what it was like to have people looking at you and _knowing_. 

Maya smiled again. "Great. Why don't we start upstairs and work our way down?"

"Sounds good," Clarke said, and followed her up to the third floor. 

When they finally climbed back up from the basement to the main floor, Clarke's head was spinning. When Professor Wallace had said the last owner of the place collected art, she hadn't imagined there would be enough to stock a small (or maybe not so small) museum. A lot of it was, at a glance, nothing special, but there would be plenty of work to do, cataloging and researching it, and then doing the restoration on the pieces that needed it. 

"So what do you think?" Maya asked. "You're not going to walk out that door tonight and start running for the hills, are you?"

Clarke laughed. "No way," she said, going to her bag and pulling out her tablet and stylus. "Let's get started."

* * *

_**Full Moon**_

Clarke spent pretty much every moment she wasn't in class, doing homework, or asleep, at Trigeda House. She didn't need to spend as many hours as she did there, and Maya gently reminded her that the stipend they were paying her wasn't hourly, so working more hours wasn't going to earn her more, but it wasn't about the money. The project was huge, and it quickly became clear that they would be _lucky_ if it only took the rest of the school year. She was determined to see it through if she could, and in that first week and a half, she knew they had only scratched the surface. Or maybe not even the surface. Maybe they'd only scratched the inches thick coating of dust on top of the surface.

Anyway, it was nice to have something to think about that wasn't Finn... who still occupied far too many of her thoughts, even six months later. 

"I got something for you," Maya said one evening as they were packing up to leave. "In case our schedules don't match up." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys, jangling on the end of a lanyard, and held them out to Clarke. 

Clarke took them, squeezing them until the edges imprinted into her palm. "Thank you," she said. "I know you're putting a lot of trust in me, giving me these, and I just—"

"Don't make me regret it," Maya said, but her smile and wink took any sting out of the words. "That being said, I need to run, so can you lock up?"

"Sure," Clarke said. "I'm actually just going to finish up in the—"

"Whatever you need to do," Maya said, already heading for the door. "See you Monday!" 

Clarke shook her head. She would have teased her about having a hot date or something, but the door had already closed behind her, leaving Clarke alone in the lowering afternoon light. They were still restricted to working daylight hours, because the wiring was so bad the electric company refused to turn the power on until it was brought up to code. A team of electricians had already been working on it when Clarke was brought in on the project, but it would be another few days before the work was complete. Still, she probably had half an hour before the sun sank too low for its rays to reach through the windows, and she planned to use every minute of it.

She found a crowbar and pried open a crate, sifting through the curls of wood (like prehistoric packing peanuts) to see what was inside, taking pictures and making careful notes on her tablet as she lifted things out piece by piece. Her information would then get sent to other members of the team to help identify and evaluate the pieces.

She didn't realize how late it had gotten until the automatic flash on her phone's camera came on because the room had gotten too dim to take pictures without it. She stretched her back... and something creaked. 

"You're getting old, Griffin," she joked, even though there was no one around to hear it. She brushed the dust and bits of wood off her pants as she stood up, freezing when she heard the creaking again. It was coming from upstairs, and sounded almost like someone was walking across the floor above her. But that was impossible, because she was the only one here. The electricians had left; they'd said goodbye to her on their way out. 

Just the house settling, then. 

She tucked her tablet into her bag and slung it across her back... then realized she'd left her hoodie somewhere in the house, and she honestly had no idea where. She could just leave it... but it was supposed to be chilly tonight, and it was her favorite hoodie. She looked quickly around and didn't see it, which meant that she'd probably left it upstairs. 

She started up, telling herself the sounds she was hearing was just the stairs, just her own movements... but then one of the shadows at the top shifted in a way that had nothing to do with the light, and she froze. "Hello?" she called. "Is... is someone there?"

There was no answer. 

_Of course there's no answer,_ she told herself. _You're **alone**._ But suddenly, she didn't want to be. At all.

The hoodie could wait.

She turned and went back down the stairs, telling herself she wasn't _running_... exactly. She yanked open the front door and stepped out into the autumn air, gasping as if she'd been underwater for too long, and tugged it shut behind her, fumbling with the keys until she managed to get the right one into the lock. She twisted it and tugged the knob to make sure it was secure. When she got to her car, she looked back at the house...

And saw a light in one of the upstairs windows. 

"Just the sun," she muttered. "Just a reflection of the sun." Never mind that the sun was too far below the horizon to cast that kind of light. Never mind that the moon was rising... full.

She got into her car and backed up quickly, her tires spitting gravel as she sped away.

* * *

"Wow," Niylah said later, tracing her fingers down Clarke's bare back, her lips curved in a smirk. "What brought that on?"

Clarke rolled to face her, pulling her in to kiss her because even though she knew the question was mostly rhetorical, she didn't want to talk about it. Not when Niylah was one of the few people who didn't treat her as if she was likely to crack at any moment. Because if she tried to explain why she'd turned up at Niylah's door, barging in when she opened it and dragging her to her room to just lose herself in something that was real and solid, that grounded her in her body when she was ready to crawl out of her skin... Niylah might change her mind about that. She might think Clarke had cracked already.

"I bet you've never been so glad to not have plans on a Friday night," she said instead.

"Who says I don't?" Niylah asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's still early."

"Should I go then?" Clarke ask, starting to sit up. 

Niylah pulled her back down, rolling on top of her and pinning her. "No," she said. "You should stay right here."

* * *

She wasn't alone. For years... decades, centuries, she didn't know because time passed strangely when you only live one day out of twenty-eight... she had been alone, and now she wasn't. There had been someone downstairs, someone who had started to come up, had called out...

... had called out in a voice that teased at the edges of her memory, that called up sunset light streaming through a patterned screen, soft fur against her skin, the taste of honey on her lips...

... and then retreated. 

But she'd left something behind, whoever this girl who was in her house – was it her house anymore? had it ever been her house? she had never lived here in life, and now she wasn't sure what she did qualified as living at all – whoever she was, she'd left a piece of herself behind. 

The Commander picked up the wadded material, shifting it around until she could see that it was some kind of lightweight jacket, soft, with a hood and a zipper down the front. She lifted it to her cheek, brushed the fleece inside against her skin, breathed in...

_You can't! Lexa, you can't do this!_

_You're wrong. I'm the only one who **can**. I'm sorry, Clarke._

Clarke.

The name that went with the voice. 

How could she have forgotten?

_Had_ she forgotten, or had she chosen not to remember?

How was this possible?

And how did she find her?

* * *

"I'm making eggs," Niylah called from the kitchen. "Did you want any?"

Clarke pushed her hair back out of her eyes, leaning heavily against the wall. She felt hungover, but she hadn't been drinking. Could you get drunk on really good sex? And if you could, why would the comedown feel so awful? Maybe it was just the weirdness of waking up in a bed she'd slept in that wasn't hers. Not that she hadn't spent the night with people – lovers – before, but not this bed. Not this lover. 

Which was probably something she ought to examine with a therapist or something. Why, when she was with – for definitions of 'with' that weren't terribly defined – someone whose company she enjoyed, who actually made her feel good about herself instead of tearing her down like just about every other person in her life did (or had done), who she had pretty fantastic sex with, did she always got up in the middle of the night so she didn't have to face the inevitable domesticity of the morning after?

But Clarke didn't want to examine it. She liked things the way they were, and so did Niylah. They both knew what this was (friendship, sex), and what it wasn't (love, romance). 

"It's not that difficult a question," Niylah teased. "Are you hungry?"

"Coffee," Clarke finally managed. 

"In the pot," Niylah said, pointing. 

"Mugs?"

"In the cupboard above it."

Clarke poured herself a cup, leaving room for enough milk to bring it to a reasonable drinking temperature right away. She cradled the mug between her palms, breathing in the steam like it might lead to a more direct caffeine hit to her brain, and took a sip. 

Niylah looked over at her and shook her head, smiling. "Not a morning person," she said. "Got it."

"I'm... no," Clarke admitted. "I'm not."

"I guess that's understandable," Niylah said. "It seemed like you were having a pretty rough night last night."

_Shit._ Clarke tried to pull up any memory of her dreams from the night before, but there was nothing. "I'm sorry," she said. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"You don't have to apologize," Niylah said. "I just wish there was something I could do. I tried to wake you, but..." She shrugged, a slight frown etching lines into her face. 

"It won't work," Clarke said. "If I'm..." She shrugged. "You just have to wait for me to wake up on my own."

Niylah nodded and turned her attention back to the stove. A few minutes later, she set a plate on the counter next to Clarke's hip, where she was still leaning because moving seemed like too much effort. "You never answered whether you wanted eggs," she said. "So I made you some anyway."

"Thank you," Clarke said. She picked up the plate... and then had no idea where to go. Did Niylah actually eat at the table? Clarke usually ate on the couch at home; her so-called kitchen table was basically just a dumping ground for mail, textbooks, old assignments, art projects, the odd socks without mates that she ended up with more times than not when she did her laundry. 

Niylah looked amused as she picked up her own plate and went into the living room, setting it on the coffee table. "I don't bite," she said. 

"Pretty sure I have marks that prove otherwise," Clarke said, smirking.

"That's not _biting_ , exactly," Niylah pointed out.

"Close enough," Clarke said, and went to sit next to her. 

After breakfast Niylah offered to let her use her shower... and Clarke didn't end up leaving until early that afternoon, when Niylah had to go to work. She headed home to change, trying to decide if she should work on her essay that was due in the middle of the week or just lose herself in her art for a little while. She'd been neglecting her sketchbook since she started working at Trigeda House, and although it was obviously an inanimate, non-sentient thing, there was a little part of her that couldn't quite be convinced it wasn't sulking every time she looked at it and didn't pick it up.

"Just a quick sketch or two," she decided, picking it up and reaching for her case of drawing pencils. "Then I'll work on the essay."

A text message dragged her back to reality... and she was startled to find that it was dark outside. She'd lost five, almost six hours, and filled half a dozen pages of her sketchbook with drawings of trees, and a tower, a bed with an ornate headboard, a staircase with candles on each step that spiraled up into darkness...

She picked up her phone to read the message:

**Raven:** Dinner?

The word alone was enough to make her stomach growl. 

**Clarke:** When and where?

**Raven:** My place, nowish? We can order in – tell me what you want and it should get here around the same time you do.

**Clarke:** You know my usual for pretty much everywhere. Whatever you're in the mood for.

It was strange to think that that was actually true. Raven _did_ know what she liked at pretty much every place within delivery range. Which probably said something about her eating habits... and her state of mind in the last few months. Another conversation to have with her non-existent therapist: did she spend time with Raven because Raven could actually understand what she was going through, or did she spend time with Raven to punish herself for what she had done to Raven, what she had taken from her, however inadvertently?

Raven's prediction turned out to be true. Clarke arrived at the same time as the delivery guy, and rather than forcing Raven to come down to get it, she just forged Raven's signature on the receipt, tipped the guy in cash, and brought the food up with her. 

"No comments from the peanut gallery," Raven said as she unpacked the chips and salsa and empanadas and other things Clarke wasn't sure of the name of, just that they tasted good. They kicked back on the couch with the food spread out in front of them and gorged themselves while watching some obstacle course show or another. Clarke would call it a guilty pleasure, but these shows were so popular now that she was pretty sure she didn't actually have to feel guilty about enjoying them. She was pretty much the last person on the planet you would ever find attempting one... but she could appreciate the athleticism involved.

"You're twitching," Raven said, wiping the grease from her fingers with a napkin. 

"Wishing I'd brought my sketchbook," Clarke said. "These would make some great figure studies."

"I thought that was when you drew naked people," Raven said.

"They don't have to be naked," Clarke said. "And anyway, they're only wearing spandex. It amounts to the same thing. Especially when the women are just wearing sports bras and short shorts."

"You have a point," Raven said. "That one chick almost had a nip slip when her teammate tried to haul her up by the bra."

"I'm sure it's happened," Clarke said. "Maybe not in national TV, but in general."

"I'm sure it has. Did you want me to get you some paper?" Raven offered. "It's just printer paper, but..."

"Nah," Clarke said. "It's fine."

When the show ended they cleaned up dinner, then put on something even more mindless. Raven took the brace from her left leg and stretched it out on the couch, and without a word Clarke took her foot in her lap and started massaging it. Raven would never ask, and would always say no if Clarke offered, so she'd stopped offering. She glanced over and saw that Raven's eyes had rolled back as Clarke worked out the tension. 

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever," Raven said. "Octavia said something about an internship?"

"Kind of," Clarke said. "They're restoring Trigeda House, and they asked one of my professors if he had any students who might be interested in helping out. So I've been up there a lot."

"Sounds cool," Raven said. "I hope they've got good architects and engineers and everything on the job. That place looks like it might collapse if you look at it the wrong way."

Clarke laughed. "Right? Apparently it's more solid than it looks, structure-wise, but yeah, things could use some work. Inside is better than outside, but it's a good thing I'm not allergic to dust." She glanced over at Raven, then focused her attention on massaging her calf. "Did Octavia say anything to you about the rumors about the place?"

"That's it's haunted?" Raven asked, opening her eyes to roll them. "Yeah, she mentioned it."

"I wish she hadn't," Clarke said. "Mentioned it to me, I mean. Because now she's got me imagining things." She knew that Raven wouldn't buy into any kind of supernatural bullshit, so she felt safe enough telling her about what she'd seen – or thought she'd seen. Raven would probably even have some kind of logical, rational, scientific explanation for it. Some kind of unusual phenomenon that can happen when the sun is at just the right angle or... something.

Raven looked at her, eyebrows raised. "What kinds of things?"

"She told me that people say they see lights in the windows of the house during the full moon," Clarke said. "I was there yesterday, the last one to leave, and I thought I heard someone moving around upstairs. I started to go up because I'd left my hoodie somewhere, and I thought I saw something move in the shadows... and when I got outside, I looked up and there was a light in one of the windows. But the noise was probably just the house settling, and the shadow was probably a tree branch or something moving in the breeze outside, casting a shadow in... and the light was probably just a reflection off of something."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Raven asked. 

Clarke smiled sheepishly. "Myself, I guess. There's no way the place is haunted. When you die, you're dead. That's it."

"Except for the part where neither matter nor energy can be created or destroyed. So when you're dead, you're dead... but you're not gone. The molecules of you still exist, and so does the energy of you, in some form or another. Who's to say what form those molecules and that energy might take?"

Clarke fought back a shiver. "You were supposed to _agree_ with me!" she said. "You're a scientist!"

"And that's science, my friend," Raven said.


	3. October

_**Full Moon** _

The next time The Commander woke, there was no one there. The house was dark, and she banged her shin against a crate that hadn't been there yesterday.

No, not yesterday. Not even close to yesterday, even if that was how it felt to her. An entire cycle of the moon had passed. Twenty-eight days, give or take. She moved more carefully after that, feeling her way until she reached the set of drawers where she kept her secret stash of belongings... which was mostly just candles and matches.

Her hand brushed something soft as she rooted around inside, and she pulled it out, remembering. 

She hadn't meant to take it, to keep it. To steal it, she supposed, although she could just leave it out this time for Clarke to find again... if Clarke was still here. If it was really Clarke at all. 

She wanted to believe it was.

She wanted to believe...

She pressed her face into the folds of the cloth, breathing in the scent of her, and it _was_ the scent of her. The details were different, maybe, but the essence was the same, and not something she would, or could, ever forget. 

How many nights had she spent bathed in that smell, and in the heat of her skin? How many nights had she spent watching her sleep, knowing she should too but afraid that any moment might be their last? Even before she knew that the moments she had were numbered, even before they dwindled down to one, and she'd looked back, looked back to see her one last time...

She pulled her face from the bundled cloth, swallowing a sob. She found a candle and lit it with shaking hands, then another, and another until they were all lit, until she was surrounded by light, and she could see that nothing was the way she'd left it. Things had been moved, removed and added, shifted from here to there.

She picked her way carefully around, joints complaining as she worked out the stiffness, and she had the sudden urge to run, to throw herself into motion and not stop until her lungs burned and her sides ached, until she was far away from here. But it wouldn't change anything.

She _could_ leave, if she wanted to. She could go out. She could look for Clarke. 

She was halfway down the stairs before she realized how ridiculous an idea that was. She had nothing to go on, no idea where to start. The world was different now from when she'd lived in it, so much different she hardly recognized it, from what little she saw. If she went out there...

She made it out to the porch, which creaked ominously under her weight, and breathed in the autumn chill. Not late enough for snow, not yet, but maybe tomorrow... no, not tomorrow... the next time, or the time after. Not that she was overly fond of snow, but Clarke had never seen it...

But that wasn't right. Clarke had seen it. This Clarke had, and so had her Clarke... just not with her. They'd never gotten the chance.

* * *

_Damn it, Lexa! Are you really willing to just throw everything away?_

_I'm not throwing everything away, Clarke._

_No, no, of course not. Not everything. Only your **life**._

_This is what I am, Clarke. This is what—_

_You're not a **what** , Lexa, you're a **who**! You're a **person** , a woman, **the** woman._

_I'm the Commander, Clarke. You know that. You knew that when you met me, and nothing has changed._

_**Everything** has changed!_

_Except my duty to my people. **Our** people. This is to save _Skaikru _, too. This is to save—_

_Don't. Don't you dare. Don't you **dare** say this is to save me, because without you—_

_Clarke._

_Lexa, please. **Please.**_

_I'm sorry, Clarke._

_There has to be another way!_

_There isn't. You know there isn't._

_Please... please don't leave me..._

* * *

Clarke woke up choking, her chest heaving, and she rolled off the edge of the bed, only just barely managing to catch herself before she crashed to the floor, scrambling hunched over like some less-evolved thing, like Gollum, to the bathroom where she coughed up the contents of her stomach, wretching until there was nothing left and all that came up was bile.

"Here," Niylah said, crouching beside her and handing her a wad of toilet paper. Clarke wiped her mouth, then scrubbed at the ends of her hair, which she hadn't had time to pull back. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Niylah eased her back to lean against the tub and wiped her face with a cool washcloth. "Shh," she whispered. "It's all right, Clarke. You're okay."

"What time... 's it?" Clarke asked. Her throat felt raw and her head was spinning. 

"Sometime after four," Niylah said. "Why?"

"I should go..." Clarke tried to push herself up, but her knees were like Jell-O. 

Niylah caught her. "The only place you're going is back to bed," she said. "Right here where I can keep an eye on you." 

"I don't need—"

"You do," Niylah said. She pressed her palm to Clarke's forehead, which was clammy rather than hot. "Just let me do this. Please."

Clarke gave in, too tired to resist. She let Niylah tuck her in, and once she'd gotten a glass of water and set it on the nightstand next to Clarke's head, she slid in beside her and pulled her into her arms, kissing the back of her shoulder. Clarke felt tears well up in her eyes again, of gratitude and also of regret, or remorse, or something, because Niylah was so good and deserved so much better... and yet she always welcomed Clarke when she decided to turn up, no questions asked, no demands made. 

Clarke closed her eyes, breathing deep and letting it go, letting everything go as best she could until sleep finally dragged her down.

In the morning she felt a thousand times better, to the point where she wondered if maybe she'd dreamed what had happened the night before. But the worried look in Niylah's eyes when she went out into the hall and almost ran into her coming out of the bathroom told her she hadn't.

"You look better," Niylah said, not quite a question.

"I feel better," Clarke said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

"It's fine," Niylah said. "Maybe something you ate disagreed with you." But she didn't look like she believed it. She looked like she knew that there was something else going on, something she hadn't decided yet if she was going to confront Clarke about. 

"Maybe."

"I put a towel and wash cloth in there for you if you want to shower," Niylah said.

"I feel like that's a suggestion more than a question," Clarke said, smiling at her. 

"Maybe," Niylah said. "A little bit."

"Thank you," Clarke said. Under other circumstances, she might have leaned in to kiss her, but no, that would be more of a cruelty than a kindness at the moment. 

She stayed under the stream of water for maybe longer than she should have, but it felt good to just let it wash away everything, the feeling of off-ness that clung to her skin from the night before. She just let it all go and got dressed in her discarded jeans and one of Niylah's shirts. She'd brushed her teeth, so when Niylah handed her a steaming mug of coffee, she _did_ kiss her, earning her a smile that almost but didn't quite reach her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Clarke finally asked, biting into a piece of toast, suddenly ravenous. 

Niylah looked like she was about to dismiss the possibility that anything was wrong, but then stopped herself. "Who's Lexa?"

Clarke frowned. "I have no idea," she said. "Why?"

"Because you were crying for her in your sleep."

* * *

Clarke discovered the statue that afternoon. Niylah had suggested Clarke might want to take the day off to recover from whatever had made her sick the night before, but her heart hadn't really been in it, and she'd given in easily when Clarke said she felt fine, it really must have just been some food poisoning or something and now it was out of her system. 

What was strange about the statue, though, was that it hadn't been in the room on Friday when Clarke left. She was absolutely sure of it, because she'd spent the entire afternoon in there sorting through crates. When she asked Maya about it, she said she hadn't moved it, and no one else had been there that day. When Clarke tried to shift it, it didn't budge, so she had to believe Maya was telling the truth. There was no way she could have moved it on her own.

Which meant one of two things: she had been so focused on what she was doing on Friday that she really hadn't processed the rest of the contents of the room, or she was losing it. She preferred to think that it had to be the former... even if she was apparently calling the name of someone she didn't know in her sleep. She'd never even _met_ anyone named Lexa, or anything like it, in her life. 

Wasn't Lexa the name of one of the various AI home device things? Like Siri? 

She tried to find where she'd left off last time she was here, but she struggled to focus. Her attention kept getting drawn back to the statue, which was of a young woman in some kind of armor, a pauldron that looked like it might have been made of tires (which didn't make any sense and was probably just a coincidence) on one shoulder, material cascading down from it all the way to the ground. There was something sad in her gaze... which felt like it was following Clarke no matter where she moved in the room. 

"Fine," she said after twenty-five unproductive minutes. "Fine, I'll draw you. Get you out of my system."

Clarke pulled out her sketchbook and began to draw, roughing in the lines and then smoothing them out, adding shading to give the sketch dimension. 

She was jerked back to reality by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Luckily she hadn't had her pencil on the paper at that moment so she didn't ruin the drawing when her hand jumped. She turned, hunched over the drawing as if she could – or should – hide it, and flashed Maya a smile that she knew only made her look guiltier. 

Maya laughed. "I wasn't coming to yell at you," she said. "You're already putting in more hours than you need to for your course credit... more than we can reasonably expect from you for what you're being paid. If you want to take a little time to do some drawing, I'm not going to say anything. I was just coming to ask if you wanted anything for lunch. I was going to go down to the deli and get some sandwiches, but we can do something else if you'd rather."

"A sandwich is fine," Clarke said, and scribbled down her order for Maya. 

"Thanks," Maya said, taking the scrap of paper. "There's something about her, isn't there?" 

"Yes, there is," Clarke agreed, even though Maya had already walked away. "There _is_ something about you." She looked down at her sketch and frowned... because there was more depth to it than a sketch of a marble – was it marble? Maybe not. Some kind of stone anyway – statue ought to have. More depth than the statue _did_ have. More... life. 

Like the eyes. The statue's eyes were blank. Of course they were; they were chiseled out of (into?) rock. But on the page, they sparkled with life. No, sparkled wasn't the right word, although Clarke had no doubt that they _could_ sparkle, in the right situation. If she smiled...

"'And the curves of your lips rewrite history,'" Clarke murmured, smudging a line just slightly to smooth out of curve of those lips, which were – would be – soft, warm, undemanding...

She shook her head, hard, to clear it of the thought. She could hear Octavia in her head, _You need to get **laid** , Griffin._ But that wasn't the problem; her sex life was fine. She didn't know what had her mind haring off after fantasies about what kissing a stone girl – _this_ stone girl – would be like. 

Except it didn't feel like a fantasy. It felt like a memory. 

And maybe she really _was_ losing it.

She went downstairs to eat when Maya got back, and spent the rest of the day in a different room, away from the girl – the _statue_ , she reminded herself – so she could actually get some work done. But even with her out of sight, she wasn't out of mind, and when Clarke found herself checking the same crate for the third time she gave up and decided to call it a night. 

"Good night," she said to Maya as she gathered up her things. "See you tomorrow."

She glanced back towards the stairs as she opened the door. _Reshop, Heda,_ she thought, the words which weren't even really words popping into her head seemingly out of nowhere.

When an answer of, _Good night, Ambassador,_ followed them, she almost ran to her car, her tires leaving gouges as she ran over the lawn in her haste to get away.

* * *

"How do you know if you're going crazy?" Clarke asked, stirring her coffee in the hope that it would cool faster. 

Raven raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't ask me," she said. "I'm not crazy. I'm a genius. There's a difference." She grinned. 

"Can't you be both?" Octavia asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She pushed a plate with a gigantic muffin on it to the middle of the table for them to share. "Isn't it more likely that you'll end up going crazy if you're a genius? Like your brain is just going too fast all the time and it starts short-circuiting?"

"I'm a rocket scientist, not a brain surgeon," Raven said. "Clarke's the medical expert."

"Clarke is the disappointing daughter of a medical expert," Clarke said. "There's a difference."

"Your mother—" Raven started, but Clarke held up a hand to stop her. She didn't want to get into it. Not now. Not when she hadn't been being entirely facetious with her question. 

"Why do you think you're going crazy?" Octavia asked. "Are you, like, hearing voices or something?"

 _Yes,_ Clarke thought. _Well, kind of._ But she didn't say that. She couldn't. Because if she _was_ going crazy, she didn't really want to know.

"No," Clarke said. "Nothing like that. I just got to work today, and somehow there was a statue I hadn't noticed before, even though it was in the room that I was working in. And once I noticed it... it was like I was obsessed with it." She shrugged. "I'm making a bigger deal out of it than it is. I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Do you want more coffee?" Octavia asked. "I'll get you some."

Clarke shook her head. "Thanks, O, but I'm all right. If I have any more caffeine I might never sleep again." She tried to force a smile and hoped they bought it. She reached out to pick a piece off the muffin, popping it into her mouth.

"Are we going to study or not?" Raven asked. Clarke wasn't sure why they got together for these 'study dates' considering that none of them were in any classes together, so they were never working on the same things. Maybe it was just an excuse to be social while at least nominally getting some work done. 

"Right," Clarke said, and pulled out her books to appease her. Her sketchbook got dragged out with them, and she chanced a look at the page she'd been working on, hoping that outside of the somewhat surreal environment of Trigeda House, she would realize that the girl – woman? but she couldn't be any older than Clarke, she didn't think, and Clarke tended to think of herself as a girl more than a woman – was just a girl with sculptable features that had caught someone's eye once upon a time, and not worth obsessing over. 

One of the baristas stopped as she walked by with a tray of empty mugs and plates, looking over Clarke's shoulder at the drawing. "Her eyes are green," she said.

Clarke turned to look at her, taking in the wild tangle of auburn curls, streaked in places with purple and teal, and the nametag pinned to her apron. Luna. "What?"

Luna blinked. "Sorry?"

"You said her eyes are green. But—"

"Did I?" Luna asked. "Huh."

Clarke just stared at her mutely, trying to figure out what to say, and before she could come up with anything Luna walked away, slipping behind the counter and into the back. She looked from Octavia to Raven. "You heard her, right?" she asked. "You heard her say—"

"What?" Octavia asked, pulling her headphones from her ears. "Sorry, if you were talking to me—"

"It's fine," Clarke said. "No big deal." She closed the sketchbook and shoved it into her bag. "I should go."

"I heard her," Raven said softly. "Okay? I heard her too."

"Was she just fucking with me?"

"I don't know," Raven said, frowning. "Why would she?"

"Wait. What happened?" Octavia asked. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Clarke started to say, but Raven cut her off.

"Clarke had her sketchbook out, and the crazy-haired chick that works here walked by and said, 'Her eyes are green.' And then acted like she hadn't said it," Raven told her. 

"That's... weird," Octavia said. 

"I'm just glad you heard it, too," Clarke said to Raven. 

Because maybe it meant she wasn't going crazy after all.

* * *

"I'm beginning to understand why they call jealousy the 'green-eyed monster'," Niylah said, leaning over Clarke's shoulder and resting her chin there. 

Clarke smiled, because she was pretty sure she was supposed to, and turned her head to claim a kiss. "It's just a drawing," she said. "Are you really going to get jealous of an inanimate object?"

"It's not just a drawing," Niylah pointed out, coming around to sprawl next to her on the couch. "It's a lot of drawings, all of the same green-eyed girl." She raised an eyebrow as if daring Clarke to contradict her. "Lucky for you, I'm not the jealous type."

But Clarke wondered sometimes. Even if Niylah wasn't the jealous type, even if they didn't label what they had as a romance or a relationship... sometimes she wondered if she was being unfair to her, or taking advantage of her. Niylah was free to do whatever – or whoever – she wanted, and Clarke was too. But she didn't, and she didn't think Niylah did either. The 'whoever' part, anyway. Clarke didn't get up to a lot of 'whatever' these days, between classes, homework, and hours spent at Trigeda House. The occasional study date with Raven and Octavia was pretty much the extent of her social life. 

She just wasn't ready to date again. Not after what happened with Finn. There was a part of her that wasn't sure she would ever be ready. A melodramatic part, Raven would say, but it wasn't as if she was seeing anyone either. Clarke was pretty sure she'd slept with Octavia's brother at one point – she was also pretty sure Octavia didn't know about it and it was best to keep it that way – and also possibly with one of her lab partners. But it wasn't dating. Clarke got it, though. Sometimes you needed the release that sex gave you, and the comfort of another person's arms. Niylah gave her that. What she gave Niylah, other than probably a headache, she wasn't sure. 

Niylah nudged her knee gently with her foot. "Where do you go when you stare off like that?" she asked.

Clarke frowned, shook her head slightly. "Nowhere," she said. "I'm right here."

"You weren't," Niylah said. 

"Sorry," Clarke said. She reached for her bag and stuffed her sketchbook into it. "I should—"

"Hey," Niylah said, catching her arm and holding it, not tightly. Clarke could pull away if she wanted to. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," Clarke said. "I just..."

"Come to bed," Niylah said. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I—"

Niylah reached out and turned Clarke's face to hers. "It's okay. I'm not looking for more than this moment. All I ask is that when you're with me... you're with me, y'know?" Clarke nodded, and Niylah let go of her chin. "Good," she said. "Now come on. It's late, and I don't plan on letting you sleep for a while."

Clarke shook her head slightly, but she felt her lips curve into a smile that answered Niylah's, and when Niylah stood up and offered a hand, Clarke took it, letting herself be led into Niylah's bedroom, hoping that she wouldn't break her promise – was it a promise? – within minutes of making it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Not related to this story specifically, but I wanted to direct everyone to a Tumblr post I made, where I am offering to write stories for people who vote! (There's also information about how to join the fun if you aren't eligible to vote in the US election.) Just my little way of hopefully bringing a little more light into an increasingly dark world. [Please check it out!](https://ironicsnowflake.tumblr.com/post/631060964368842752/will-write-for-votes)


	4. November

_**Full Moon** _

The gray haze cleared from her vision, and Lexa found herself blinded by light bright as daytime, but it couldn't be, could it? It had been a very long time since she'd seen the sun. She looked toward the window and saw it was dark. But there were no candles lit; no matter how many candles you had it would be impossible to achieve this level and quality of light.

She looked up and quickly away again, blinking at the afterimages of the artificial sun affixed to the ceiling. _Electricity_ , she remembered. Her people hadn't had it; it had been gone long before her birth. _Praimfaya_ had seen to that. The Mountain Men had had it, though, and the Sky People. Still, the few times she'd experienced it, it hadn't been this bright. It made her feel off-kilter, like she'd put her boots on the wrong feet or something. She was so used to darkness. This felt unnatural.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to let go of the feeling of strangeness, of wrongness, with it. It was only once she'd gotten her heartbeat and breathing back in check that she realized she wasn't alone. In the room, yes, but not in the house. She could hear others moving around. The ones who had brought the electricity, she assumed, and who kept rearranging things. 

She made her way as quietly as she could to her drawer and was relieved to discover that everything was still where she'd left it. She traced her fingers over the soft material of the left-behind jacket but left it where it was for now. She didn't need the candles, either, which meant her usual ritual upon waking was unnecessary. Again, the feeling of wrongness, which clenched her gut and set her on edge.

"Clarke!"

She froze at the sound of a voice calling up the stairs, calling a name she'd dreaming of hearing, of _saying_ again. She edged toward the doorway, trying not to make any noise, and pressed herself beside it, careful to remain unseen as she tried to sneak a look into the hallway.

"I'm headed out!" the voice called. "Lock up when you're done, okay?"

"Always do!"

Lexa's knees buckled, and if she hadn't been pressed hard against the door frame, she might have collapsed. Because that was her voice. Clarke's voice. It might have been her imagination that it was Clarke's scent in the material, but this... this was unmistakable. This was a voice she knew as well as her own, because she'd done her best to commit to memory every word the woman she loved had ever spoken to her in the hopes that she wouldn't lose them, lose her, when she lost herself.

She heard the door downstairs open, then close. She listened for the sounds of anyone else moving around but there was nothing but the quiet shuffling noises coming from a room down the hall. She waited a minute more, until she was confident there was no one else here. 

Last time she'd imagined herself leaving the house, going to find her, to find Clarke. Now she didn't have to. Clarke was here. Clarke was waiting. Lexa was about to step into the hall when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and realized maybe she ought to tone down her appearance, just a little. The glimpses she'd had through the windows of people passing by, rare as they were, told her no one dressed like this anymore. So she removed her pauldron, and the piece from her forehead, and then her jacket, setting them all carefully aside. 

Stripped down to what she hoped would pass for normal, Lexa found herself with goosebumps running up and down her arms. She went to the drawer and pulled out the soft hooded jacket, slipping it on and shrugging her shoulders to settle it in place. 

She took one final deep breath and made her way down the hall, steps soft but purposeful, and stopped in the doorway of the room that the noise was coming from. She hesitated at the door, afraid of what she might see when she looked inside. Or, more accurately, what she might not see. But she had never let fear stop her in the past, so she turned...

... and for a second her heart stopped.

When it started beating again, when her lungs filled with air again, she said only one word, but that word was the entire world:

"Clarke."

* * *

Clarke looked up, expecting Maya again, to give her a last minute reminder or to retrieve something she'd forgotten. But it wasn't Maya standing in the doorway. It wasn't anyone she knew at all... except it was someone she knew perhaps better than anyone, because she saw – sketched – her face a dozen or more times a day. Absentmindedly in the margins of the pages of her class notes, intentionally in her sketchbook, even in the steam of the bathroom mirror once, until she'd caught herself and stopped.

_Her eyes are green._

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice shaking. 

Maybe she imagined it – she had to have imagined it, because she had to be imagining all of this, she really _was_ losing her mind and the thought of it made her want to cry – but she thought for a second that the girl – the _statue_ girl – looked hurt by the question. Just for a second, a flicker of emotion quickly hidden, but Clarke was almost sure she'd seen it. Like she'd expected a different response. 

"It's—" the girl started, and then stopped. "My name is Lexa."

 _Fuck._

"You shouldn't be here," Clarke said, pushing herself to standing, the crowbar she used to pry open crates clenched in one hand. As if she could defend herself against hallucinations. 

_Or ghosts,_ Octavia's voice in her head suggested. _Didn't I warn you?_

"I have nowhere else to be," the girl – Lexa, but that was impossible, _all_ of this was impossible – said. 

"There are... programs for that," Clarke said, because it was the first thing she could think of to say. "I know this place has been abandoned for a long time, but not anymore, so you can't just... squat here, or whatever you think you're—" She stopped, realizing what the girl was wearing. "That's my hoodie," she said. "You stole my hoodie."

"This?" the girl asked, touching the edge of the hood. "I found it. I..." She carefully removed it and held it out to her. "Here," she said. "I should have left it where I found it. I'm sorry."

Clarke took it, trying to ignore the fact that her hands were shaking. "Thank you," she said, even though you probably weren't supposed to thank the person who stole something from you, even if they gave it back. 

The girl nodded, and Clarke could see that she was fighting with herself, fighting some instinct. Fight or flight maybe. Clarke didn't know. She told herself she didn't care. She watched as the girl lost the fight and shook slightly as a shiver ran through her. Clarke had been working all afternoon and hadn't noticed the chill, but she was also wearing a lot more than this girl was. Something inside of her melted. 

She held the hoodie out to her again. "Here," she said. "You keep it. You need it more than I do."

"I'm all right," the girl said. 

"You're cold," Clarke insisted. "Take it."

Again, she watched the girl struggle with herself; watched it all happen in the depths of those green eyes, the shade of which she'd never gotten quite right, it turned out. She wondered if they actually made colored pencils or pastels or anything capable of truly capturing that color. The rest of her remained motionless, an almost unnatural stillness that seemed to be at once a natural part of her bearing and a carefully calculated act. She was a living contradiction.

_She always has been._

Clarke forced the thought from her head because it didn't make sense and it didn't belong. "Please," she said. "Please just take it."

Finally the girl – Lexa – gave in. She took the hoodie back and put it on, this time zipping it up partway. "Thank you," she said.

"Are you hungry?" Clarke asked, going for the Occam's Razor, horses not zebras explanation for what was going on. The girl had been living in the abandoned house because she had nowhere else to go. She'd managed to keep herself from being noticed since they'd started working, but now she'd been caught.

Except she hadn't, had she? She hadn't been _caught_. She'd walked right into the room and brought herself to Clarke's attention. She'd...

"How do you know my name?" Clarke asked. Probably she'd just heard Maya use it. Maybe she'd been watching them and decided Clarke was the more likely of the two of them to not turn her in or something. Maybe this really was a cry for help. 

"Because I know you, Clarke," the girl said. 

"No, you don't," Clarke said. "How can you know me when I don't know you? I've never seen you before in my life."

"Maybe not in this one," Lexa said. "But this isn't the only life you have lived."

* * *

Lexa saw the disbelief in Clarke's eyes turn to fear, and then to anger, and she knew she'd miscalculated. She had assumed that because she remembered Clarke, Clarke would remember her. She didn't, or if she did, she was doing a very good job of hiding it. 

She could explain, or try to explain, but what if Clarke didn't believe her? Or what if she believed her, but in explaining why Clarke had lost her the first time, Lexa lost Clarke the second? What if this time around, Clarke found the choice Lexa had made unforgivable? 

... What if Clarke had found the choice she'd made unforgivable the first time, too? She'd accepted it, in the end, but had Lexa really given her a choice? If Clarke had said no, absolutely not, would she have listened? Or would she have done it anyway? 

She'd said goodbye as best she could, but when all was said and done, Clarke had had to deal with the aftermath, the fallout, and Lexa hadn't. What if... what if it hadn't worked? What if she'd sacrificed herself, left Clarke alone, for nothing? 

Would Clarke be here if that was the case? If you died in one life, that didn't end you in all others. It couldn't. And for Clarke to be here, now, for them both to be here now, that had to mean something. It _had_ to. 

When Clarke had woken up that morning, alone...

Lexa forced herself to stop thinking about it. She couldn't change it. Even if she could, she wouldn't. Not if it saved her people. Not if it saved Clarke.

But had it? If this Clarke didn't remember her, if this Clarke was not _her_ Clarke, then she didn't have the answers to all of Lexa's questions. 

"You need to go," Clarke said. "You need to leave."

"I can't," Lexa said. "I told you, I have nowhere else to go."

"That's not my problem!" Clarke said. "You need to get out of here! You don't belong! You're not even—"

She stopped herself, shaking her head hard, and Lexa took a step toward her but stopped when Clarke extended the crowbar in front of her, warding her off. Lexa could disarm her if she needed to; it wouldn't even be hard. She could do it without hurting Clarke if that's what it came down to. But she wasn't trying to scare her, wasn't trying to make her feel any more threatened than she already did. 

"I'm not even what, Clarke?" she asked. 

"Real," Clarke said, sounding terrified and defeated and very, very young. "You're not even real. This is all... this is all in my head. I'm losing my mind. After Finn—"

So Finn existed in this world, too. Lexa tried to keep her expression neutral. What had he done to Clarke here? Had he forced her to kill him here, too, to spare him some worse fate? She didn't think this world was like that, not yet, but one never knew. 

Clarke shook her head. "I don't owe you any kind of explanation," she said. "You're just... you're not real."

"I am," Lexa said. "I am as real as I have ever been."

"In another life," Clarke scoffed. "Right? In a past life, when you knew me before. And now you're here to... what?"

"I don't know if it was past," Lexa said. "From the papers I've found, I think it was in the future."

Clarke just stared at her. "Right. That makes perfect sense. You knew me in another life, in the future. And now you've, what, time traveled back to the past to... warn me about something? Give me a message from my future self? Either I'm going crazy, or you are. Or maybe we both are." She shook her head, tapping the crowbar against her leg. "What do you think?"

"Yes," Lexa said. "I'm hungry." She was always hungry, but she never bothered to eat. Even in the winter when the nights were longest, they didn't stretch so interminably that she couldn't handle the pangs of hunger. She had been through worse in life. When she woke up again at the next full moon, she wasn't any hungrier than she had been before. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd eaten.

"What?" Clarke just stared at her.

"You asked if I was hungry. Before you asked how I know your name, you asked if I was hungry. The answer is yes, I'm hungry. Are you?"

"I don't even know anymore," Clarke said. "But fine. Okay. We'll get something to eat, if it will get you out of this house."

 _I'll have to come back,_ Lexa thought. _This could all end very badly if I don't._

* * *

Clarke gathered her things and waited for Lexa to go down the stairs before following. She made sure the door was locked securely behind her so Lexa wouldn't get any ideas about coming back after they ate. She assumed that before they'd started the restoration project, the place hadn't been very well secured, but if that was the case, wouldn't there have been some evidence of vandalism, something stolen? There was plenty in the place that was of value, if you knew what you were looking for. It was impossible to be absolutely sure, of course, that nothing had been taken over the years, but it really seemed as if it had gone entirely untouched for decades. 

Which meant Lexa must have gotten in some other way. She would have to tell Maya tomorrow so they could look for whatever Lexa was using as her own personal entrance and exit. Probably she should call her tonight about it... but she ought to figure out whether or not this was all some sort of elaborate delusion first. 

"Anything in particular you'd like?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa shook her head. "You can choose," she said. "I trust you, Clarke."

_I know that's hard for you._

_You think our ways are harsh, but it's how we survive._

_Maybe life should be about more than just surviving. Don't we deserve better than that?_

_Maybe we do._

Clarke froze, because she _remembered_. She remembered kissing this girl, kissing Lexa, Lexa kissing her. It wasn't imagined... except it had to be imagined, because it couldn't be a memory. You couldn't _remember_ something that had never happened. 

But she remembered kissing her, remembered wanting to keep kissing her, wanting to lose herself in her, but she couldn't, they couldn't, because the world was ending... not for first time, not for the last. So she'd pulled away, told her she wasn't ready to date... no, to be with, anyone. Not yet. 

Because Finn was dead, and she'd killed him.

A hand on her elbow, holding tight, holding her upright as her legs threatened to give out. "Clarke? Are you all right?"

"No," Clarke said, looking into those eyes, those green eyes she had looked into so many times before, the only place she'd found comfort when everything was falling apart, those eyes she had watched dim and grow hazy... "No, Lexa, I'm not okay."

"What can I do?"

_Tell me this isn't real. Tell me that it **is**. Get away from me. Never let me go. Promise me..._

What? Promise her what? 

"I'm sorry," Clarke said. "I can't do this."

Lexa nodded, the slightest movement of her eyes and chin. "Not yet."

* * *

Back inside, Lexa watched Clarke go, listened to her footsteps down the hall to the room at the end where she kept her candles, and, she supposed, herself, when she wasn't herself. When she wasn't anyone. 

She assumed Clarke had gone to get something from the room, although she didn't think she'd left anything in there this time. Maybe she'd just needed to get away from Lexa, and they'd been through that before, too, hadn't they? But they'd found their way back to each other.

Maybe they would always find their way back to each other. 

There was no sound of movement from the end of the hall, but Lexa would have heard if she'd gone downstairs again, if she'd opened the door, if she'd left. So Clarke had to still be up here. After another few seconds of silence, Lexa stepped out into the hall. 

Clarke turned, holding her pauldron in her hands, her eyes so wide the white was visible almost all the way around. "What is this?" she asked. 

"It's—"

"Where's the statue?"

"I can—"

"Where the _fuck_ is the _goddamn_ statue?!"

"Here," Lexa said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm right here."

Clarke started shaking her head, and she didn't stop. "No," she said. "No, I don't... no. This is crazy. You're crazy. Or I am. Maybe this is all just a dream..." She pinched her right arm savagely. "This has to be a dream." She looked wildly around, and her gaze landed on Lexa's dagger. "I need to wake up," she said, reaching for it. "I need—"

Lexa got there first. She grabbed the dagger and its sheath and clenched them tight in her hands, keeping them away from Clarke and whatever she was thinking of doing. "Clarke, I can explain," she said. "If you just—"

"You're not real!" Clarke shouted, and Lexa flinched back. "You're not. _Fucking_. Real."

Lexa looked up, blinking rapidly, and it had been so long... so long since she'd shed tears. She didn't even know if she still could. When you spent 27 out of every 28 days as stone, were you even human anymore? 

"I'm going," Clarke said, but not really to her. She was looking past her. "I'm going, and when I wake up, I won't remember any of this."

Lexa let her go, because she didn't know what else to do. If she reached out and tried to stop her, if she touched her, she was sure Clarke would freak out, and she didn't want to make things worse even if she could – if Clarke would let her – make them better. 

She heard her gather her things and stomp down the stairs. She heard the door slam and keys rattling in the lock. She heard Clarke's car start, and the hiss of gravel as she sped away. 

She wondered whether she would come back. 

She wondered what Clarke would do if she did.

She wondered what _she_ would do if she _didn't_.

* * *

Clarke didn't know where she was going until she got there... and then realized she couldn't, or at least shouldn't, be here. Because she'd met Lexa. Because she wasn't just a name muttered in her sleep anymore. She wasn't...

She wasn't _real_. 

But she had certainly looked real. She had certainly _felt_ real when she'd touched Clarke's arm to steady her. Real... and _right_.

Which meant this was wrong. Being here was wrong. It had to be. Didn't it? 

You couldn't remember something, someone like that and then just climb into someone else's bed to lose yourself. Even if they weren't real. Even if you were dreaming... or hallucinating. Even then, you couldn't use someone to forget someone else. Not without them knowing that that's what you're doing. All you're doing. 

And for Niylah to know, she would have to tell her, but what the fuck could she tell her? 

_A statue came to life._

_I loved her once._

_I think some part of me loves her still._

_Her name is Lexa._

* * *

"Her eyes are green."

Raven stood in the doorway, leaned against the frame, propped up with a crutch on the other side. "What?"

"Her eyes are green."

Raven looked at her for a long moment, then pushed the door open and stepped aside. "Come in," she said. 

It was only then that Clarke noticed she wasn't wearing any pants. 

"Am I interr—"

"No," Raven said, hobbling into the living room. "You," she said, pointing to a disheveled-looking guy with facial hair that screamed _douchebag_ who was standing in the hallway in his boxers. "Out."

"I—" he started, but stopped at Raven's glare. "Sure," he said. "No problem."

It was a problem. Or it would be. 

"You," Raven said, looking at Clarke. "Sit. I'll be right back."

Clarke sat, even though it was the last thing she felt like doing. She picked at a loose thread on the arm of the couch, wrapping it around her finger until the tip of it turned purple, then let it go and watched as the blood flowed back into the rest of her hand. She heard the door open, then close, and assumed it was Raven's friend (or whatever he was) leaving. 

A minute later Raven limped over and handed her a juice glass a third full of whiskey. "You look like you could use this," she said, dropping down on the other end of the couch and kicking up her leg, nudging Clarke in the hip with her foot. "So what's going on?"

Clarke tossed back the drink, gulping it down without stopping, then picked up Raven's foot and began to rub, just to have something to do with her hands. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said.

"Keep doing that and I'll believe anything you want me to believe," Raven said. "If only Wick was as good with his hands as you are..." 

"Was Wick...?" Clarke let the question trail off, tilting her head toward the door.

"Yeah. Not a great idea, but..." Raven shrugged. "Needs must, any port in a storm, pick your cliché. But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Or her. She of the green eyes."

Clarke sighed. "I think I'm going crazy," she said. "I really think I'm losing my mind."

Raven leaned forward, placing one hand over Clarke's. "You're not going crazy," she said. "If you're still talking about that girl in the café, I heard it too. She was probably just fucking with us."

"That's only part of it," Clarke said. "And why would she?"

"To make us think we're going crazy?" Raven said. "I don't know. Come on, Griffin. Just tell me. Whatever it is, it can't be..." But what it couldn't be, she didn't seem to know. "Just tell me."

Clarke opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I can't," she said. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't drag you into this. I've fucked up your life enough."

"No," Raven said, pulling her foot from Clarke's grasp and leaning in, her fingers digging into Clarke's knee as she got into her face. " _You_ didn't fuck up my life. _Finn_ fucked up my life."

"By fucking me." _And then killing himself when he couldn't fuck me anymore._

"By being a lying, cheating asshole who couldn't handle it when shit got real. Who clearly had his own issues that he didn't want to deal with, so he took the cowards' way out," Raven said. "This isn't on you, Clarke, and it's not on me. It's on him. And honestly, if anything good came out of the whole fucking mess, it's that I got you for a friend. And you've got me. I can't force you to tell me, obviously – I left my thumbscrews at work – but I hope you know that whatever it is, however crazy it sounds, however crazy it seems, I'll listen. And I'll believe you."

Clarke's eyes filled with tears, and she looked up, blinking them back. "I don't get why you don't hate me."

"Because hating you wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't fix anything. It would just make us both more alone. And I don't know about you, but I'm fucking sick of being alone."

Clarke nodded, and took a few slow breaths. "I don't even know where to start."

"Anywhere," Raven said. "It doesn't matter. I'm good at putting together puzzles."

"Okay." But it took a few more breaths... and a trip to the kitchen for more whiskey... before she could make herself start. "Her name is Lexa, and her eyes are green," she said. "Except... when they're not." Raven raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Her eyes are green, except when they're stone."

"Ooookaaay..."

"You said you would believe me!" Clarke said. "You said—"

"I know," Raven said. "Sorry. Go on."

"I was at Trigeda House this afternoon, and Maya left for the day, but then someone knocked on the door of the room I was working in, and I looked up and she was there. Wearing my hoodie that I left at the house a couple months back. And her eyes were green, just like that girl – Luna – said."

"Which she said about a girl you were drawing."

"Right. The girl in the statue at Trigeda House."

Raven blinked, something in her eyes shifting like a puzzle piece had just clicked into place. "So you're saying that a girl who looked like the statue girl you've been drawing was standing in the doorway, and she has green eyes and her name is Lexa."

"Yes," Clarke said. "Except she's not a girl who looks like the girl in the statue. She _is_ the girl in the statue."

"That's impo—improbable," Raven said. 

"No shit. But it's also true."

Raven looked at her, and Clarke knew that despite what she said, she didn't believe her. Even if Raven wanted to believe her, she couldn't, because she was a scientist. She needed data. Evidence. Even if she _had_ been the one to tell her that ghosts could, theoretically at least, be scientifically explained. 

"When I went to the room where the statue had been, it was gone," Clarke said. "There was no one else in the house. There was no way that it could have been moved. It just disappeared. Except the girl in the statue, she wears this long coat, and this... shoulder guard thing, this pauldron, with a long cape attached to it. And they were there. Not stone. Cloth, and old tires. The things the statue wears were there, but the statue wasn't, because the statue was still down the hall, as alive as you or me."

She could practically see the Raven's brain working, looking for some probable explanation for this, but there wasn't one. Or there was, but it wasn't one Clarke would like, because really the most probable explanation was that Clarke's grasp on reality was slipping. That she was experiencing vivid and prolonged hallucinations.

And false memories.

False memories so real she couldn't separate them from her real memories, now that they were in her head. She remembered the way Lexa's lips felt against hers, the strength and softness of her under Clarke's hands, the brush of her breath against sweat-damp skin...

Color flooded her cheeks, and she broke Raven's searching gaze. 

"What?" Raven asked. "What is it?"

"I loved her," Clarke said. "I remember loving her. I remember..." She shook her head. "But I can't remember that, because it didn't happen. None of this happened and she isn't real." Her eyes filled with tears and she scrubbed them away with the cuff of her sleeve. 

"Hey," Raven said. "It's okay."

Clarke laughed, a soft, bitter sound. "How? How is this – any of this – okay? I'm going crazy. Remembering things that never happened, seeing things that aren't there. I'm no psychology major, but I'm pretty sure that's textbook crazy."

"Or there are more things on heaven and earth, Clarke, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Raven said. Paraphrased. Whatever. Clarke knew it was a quote from something – probably Shakespeare – but she couldn't place exactly what. "As much as I might want there to be – as much as _you_ might want there to be – there are still things science can't explain. New discoveries are made every day. I'm not a theoretical physicist, so I don't know all of the ins and outs of it, but there are people who believe that there are an infinite number of worlds, that time is not necessarily linear, that everything is happening all at once—"

"Is that science, or science fiction?" Clarke asked. "Because from what I know, that sounds a whole hell of a lot like Doctor Who."

"That's the thing, though," Raven said. "Some things that only existed in science fiction years ago are now science fact. We carry around in our pockets more computing power than what ran the first space missions. People went into space with less tech than an iPhone. That's insane, right? And it's also real. So... maybe you're crazy, yeah. It's possible. Or maybe you're encountering science that just hasn't been discovered yet."

"I don't know if you're saying that to make me feel better or if you actually believe that," Clarke said, brushing at her eyes again. "Either way... thank you."

Raven brushed away the thanks. "Do you think she knows?"

Clarke frowned. "Knows what?"

"That she's a statue?"

Clarke considered, lines forming between her brows. "I don't know," she said. "She... I think she might. At least to an extent." Was it possible to understand that you were a block of stone sometimes? A shudder ran through her as it occurred to her that maybe Lexa was fully aware of that fact, that somehow she was _conscious_ even when she was the statue, and that she was trapped in there, waiting for whatever triggered her to become a girl again. 

"What?" Raven asked. "What's wrong?"

"I just... I hope that when she's the statue, she's... asleep, or whatever," Clarke said. "That she doesn't know what's going on. That she can't feel it."

"Shit," Raven said. "Yeah." She rolled her shoulders as if to relieve tension there. "But you said you think she might know she's a statue?"

"When I first saw her, I thought she was some homeless girl – woman, I guess, I assume she's around the same age we are – and I told her she couldn't stay there anymore. She said she couldn't leave. She _insisted_ she couldn't leave."

"Do you think she's tied to the house somehow?" Raven asked. "Maybe she's being literal. Maybe there is something that prevents her from leaving."

"What kind of science would explain that?" Clarke asked. 

"I don't know," Raven admitted. "I'm not sure we can science this one away."

"But you believe me?"

"Until – unless – I find evidence to the contrary, I'm going to accept that what you say is true, yes."

"So what do we do now?" Clarke asked.

"We go looking for evidence," Raven said. "One way or another."

"Right now?" Clarke wasn't sure she could face going back to the house again tonight. She wasn't sure she could stand on her own two feet at all at the moment, considering the amount of alcohol she'd consumed in a very short span of time.

"It doesn't have to be," Raven said. "If she really is a statue, or if she really can't leave, she'll still be there tomorrow, right?"

"Right," Clarke said, relieved.

* * *

Lexa slid her arms out of the sleeves of Clarke's jacket – hoodie, she'd called it – and folded it up carefully. Dawn was coming; she knew it without having to look out the window to see the way the sky lightened. She could feel it creeping through her body as her blood grew sluggish, her muscles and joints stiffening, and she took slow deep breaths to stave off the panic that rose as her heart stuttered, missing one beat, then another. 

It always happened, and she always woke up again. There was no reason to be afraid. 

_Don't be afraid, Clarke. Death is not the end._

A sob rose in her throat and she swallowed it back. She didn't have time for that. If this was going to happen, and of course it was going to happen because it happened every month, every moon, then at least she could try, after the damage she'd done yesterday revealing herself to Clarke, to make some kind of amends.

The story of her life, or at least the story of them. 

She found a piece of paper and wrote as quickly as she could with fingers that were less and less at her command by the moment, folding up the letter and tucking it into the folds of fleece, which she left out where Clarke could see it rather than hiding it in her drawer. She slipped her arms into her coat and placed her pauldron on her shoulder. The world was already dimming as she forced the buckle into place, and she looked back to make sure that the letter was there where she'd left it as darkness claimed her.

* * *

_**Waning Moon**_

Clarke didn't know what to expect when she went back the next day. She didn't know what she hoped to find. Proof she wasn't crazy? Or maybe proof that she was? A wild thought that maybe she had lost it a long time ago and this was a heavily medicated dream she was having while strapped to a hospital bed in a psych ward somewhere was quickly dismissed. Her mother would never let that happen, no matter how much of a disappointment she was. Right?

She said a quick hello to Maya and the other workers, muttering something about how she was going to pick up where she'd left off the night before, which wasn't entirely a lie. And she _would_ do that... after she checked on Lexa. The statue. Lexa.

Clarke burst into the room like she expected to catch Lexa in the process of trying to hide herself so no one would notice her and make her leave. But there was no movement, no life in this room. Only cold stone, head twisted to look back... at what? 

"What are you looking at?" Clarke asked her, turning her head to follow the statue's blank gaze... and saw her hoodie there, neatly folded. She went and picked it up, pressing her face into the folds like she might pick up a trace of Lexa's scent (how could you miss something you'd never actually experienced before?) and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. 

She leaned down to retrieve it, unfolding it carefully like it might be brittle, some ancient scroll of immeasurable value, rather than just a piece of folded up office paper.

> _Dear Clarke,_
> 
> _I know you must have so many questions, and I wish I had time to answer them all for you, but I don't. Dawn is coming._
> 
> _I never meant to hurt you. Not then and not now, but I know that I have, over and over, and that I will continue to do so. I thought about leaving, thinking it might spare you pain, but I made that mistake once. Twice. I can't do that again. Not when there's a chance_
> 
> _I'm out of time for now. I'm sorry._
> 
> _Ai hod yu in otaim._
> 
> _Lexa_

* * *

_A knife held to a throat, teeth gritted, hands shaking, staring into those eyes and wanting to press the blade in, wanting to make her bleed, make her hurt as much as she had been hurt..._

_I'm sorry. I never meant to turn you into this._

_The knife clattering to the floor between them, pulling away because the line between love and hate was so fine and she didn't know what side she was on. She knew what side she **wanted** to be on, but what a person wanted and what a person did and what a person was weren't always – ever? – the same thing._

* * *

Clarke blinked hard, realizing the edges of the page had become crumpled in her fingers and her vision was blurry with tears. She quickly smoothed it out and folded it up, tucking it into her pocket.  
_I love you always._

She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes, and if anyone asked she would blame the dust. Must be allergic.

_Dawn is coming._

"Is that when it happens?" Clarke asked. "Is that when you turn back into this?" Of course the statue didn't answer, and Clarke felt foolish for talking to her – it – in the first place. And yet when she went to leave the room, she still glanced back at it and said, "I'll just be down the hall."

"What was that?" Maya asked. 

"Nothing," Clarke said. "Just talking to myself."

"Don't tell me this place is getting to you already," Maya said, her eyes wide, but then she grinned. "For as old and decrepit as it seems, it's not actually as creepy as you'd think it would be, is it? It's like someone's kind of been taking care of it all along, somehow. Or... I dunno, like there's something... guarding it." She laughed. "That sounds pretty crazy when I say it out loud."

"I've heard crazier things," Clarke said. _And said them. And seen them._

"I guess that's reassuring?" Maya said, still smiling. "Anyway, I'm going to be up on the third floor if you need me."

"Sure," Clarke said, and went back to the room she'd been working in the day before. 

If Lexa turned into a statue at dawn, did that mean that she turned into a girl at dusk? It was late enough in the year that sunset often came before Clarke left for the day, and she decided she would wait to find out. She tried to lose herself in her work, hoping it would make time go by faster, but the hours and minutes crawled by, and every time she checked her watch it had been less time than she expected. 

Finally the light streaming through the windows began to dim, and she waited for the clock to tick over the last minute. She listened first, for any stirring in the room down the hall, and when she heard nothing, she got up and made her way slowly to the door... but she didn't even have to step inside to see that Lexa was still very much a statue. 

Maybe it wasn't sunset, then. Maybe it had to be fully dark before the spell – spell? now she thought what was happening was magic? but what other explanation was there? – was lifted. 

"Come on," she said. "You said it yourself: you know I have questions. So wake up and answer them."

Nothing. Not a flicker in those stone eyes. 

Clarke pressed her lips together, frowning. If it _was_ a spell, if she was suddenly somehow living in some kind of twisted time travel fairy tale... she knew how you woke people up in fairy tales. And Lexa was no frog... and it wasn't the first time she'd kissed her, if her memories were to be believed. She pushed herself up on her toes and pressed her lips to the statue's, but they remained resolutely stone, cold and unyielding.

"Um." 

Clarke stumbled back, her face flooding with heat. 

"I'm not even going to ask," Maya said. 

"I, uh, appreciate that," Clarke said, clearing her throat and rubbing the back of her neck. "Were you headed home?"

"Yes," Maya said. "I think you should, too. I was joking earlier about this place getting to you, but maybe calling it an early night wouldn't be a bad idea. Go and interact with some actual human beings." She smiled, but there was something a little strange in it, a little off, like she really was worried that something might be wrong with Clarke. 

Clarke couldn't afford to lose this job, not in any sense, so she forced a laugh. "Yeah, probably. Let me just grab my bag and we can head out."

"Cool," Maya said. She looked at the statue for a long moment, then headed down the stairs. Clarke went and retrieved her backpack, and she followed her down, forcing herself not to look back.

Maya called good night to her as they got into their cars, but then seemed to dawdle about getting into hers, and Clarke wondered if she was doing it intentionally to make sure Clarke actually left. So she maneuvered her car around until she was pointing back down the driveway. "I'll see you tomorrow," she murmured, even though Lexa – the statue – obviously couldn't hear her. Somehow it made her feel better to say it anyway. 

She headed home, parking in the space that was not really a parking space, but was the only option she had that wouldn't lead to her blocking someone in. She lived in a poorly insulated attic apartment that was freezing in winter and boiling in summer, had chronic plumbing issues and a kitchen that anyone with any kind of culinary ambition would despair of. But she could afford the rent on her own, and that had pretty much been the deciding factor. When she'd started college she'd assumed she would live in the dorms all four years, that it would be this amazing experience full of late night camaraderie with the people who would be her friends for the rest of her life.

Then Finn happened, and she'd realized there was no way she could stand to live in a building with a bunch of people who would look at her and see The Girl Whose (Ex) Boyfriend Killed Himself Over Her. So she'd found this place and told the landlord she would take it on the spot, writing him a check for the security deposit and first month's rent that had accounted for a good portion of her savings account, and moved in two days later.

Her favorite part was the second bedroom (which didn't technically count as a bedroom because it didn't have a closet) she'd turned into an art studio. It got great light most times of the day, and it had become her sanctuary. 

It was tempting to go in there now, to just lose herself in her art for the rest of the night, but she had homework she needed to do... which meant she had to go somewhere else, because if she stayed the siren song of the canvas would almost certainly prove overwhelming.

She sent a quick text to Raven and Octavia, suggesting they meet up somewhere, and then went to shower off the day's dust and grime. When she came back, she had responses from both:

 **Raven:** Gotta draft a metric fuck-ton of stuff so it would have to be my place.

 **Octavia:** I'm down for whatever, wherever. I mean I probably should do some reading but who actually does the reading? 

**Raven:** I did the reading. All of it. Every page.

 **Octavia:** You're so full of shit your eyes are brown.

 **Raven:** My eyes are... You may have a point. 😉

Clarke laughed, tapping out a message back with one hand while she toweled off with the other. 

**Clarke:** I haven't eaten. Want me to pick something up on the way over or are we going to order?

 **Raven:** I already ordered pizza so hurry your asses up.

 **Octavia:** Yes ma'am!

 **Clarke:** Be there in ten.

Which ended up being closer to fifteen, but she beat the pizza there so she still counted it as a win. They settled in to eat, chowing down while Raven periodically shouted out answers to Jeopardy. 

"You should try out," Octavia said. "You could win big money."

"As long as the categories they pick are the right kind of useless trivia that I've crammed my head with," Raven said. "If they have a category about, like, opera, I'd be screwed."

"You could bone up on it," Octavia said, then started to snicker. "Heh. Bone."

"Wow," Raven said. "Are we twelve?"

"Maybe," Octavia said, grinning, and batted away the pillow that Raven tossed at her face. 

When Jeopardy was over and the pizza mostly gone, Raven went to her drafting table (which dominated her tiny living room; she had opted to compromise comfort for solitude, too) and Octavia pulled out her books. Clarke spread out her notebook and a few articles she'd printed on the coffee table and propped her laptop on the arm of the couch, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. 

It lasted about an hour and two and a half pages (out of five to seven, so it really was progress!) before Octavia nudged her with her foot. "Hey," she said. "How's the internship thing?"

Clarke's gaze immediately flicked to Raven, who looked at her and shrugged. Octavia caught the looks, though, and frowned. "What?" she asked. "What did I miss?"

Clarke bit the inside of her lip, trying to decide whether to tell her what was going on or just say that everything was fine. She didn't want to lie to Octavia. She really didn't. But she also didn't want to get laughed at, and she was pretty sure Octavia wouldn't take her seriously if she said she was obsessed with a statue who came to life last night. (She _knew_ she would laugh if she told her that she'd kissed it, but in hindsight, it _was_ pretty ridiculous.) 

"Whatever," Octavia said when the silence had stretched a little too long, shrugging like she didn't care, but Clarke could tell she was pissed that she was being kept in the dark. "Just don't let the ghosts get you."

And suddenly it clicked. Back when she'd first mentioned she was going to be working at Trigeda House, Octavia had said people thought the place was haunted because they saw lights in the house at the full moon, even though no one lived there. 

Last night had been the full moon. 

"It's not a ghost," Clarke blurted out before she could think about it. "It's a girl."

Octavia's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"The lights that people see. It's not... the house isn't haunted. Not like people think."

O's eyebrows went back down again, pulling together in confusion. "There's some other way for a place to be haunted?"

"Yes," Clarke said. "There's a girl who lives there... only most of the time she's a statue. Not a ghost."

Octavia turned to look at Raven, and Clarke didn't need to be able to see her face to know she was silently asking if they should maybe be calling the men in the white coats to come take her away. 

"It doesn't make any sense," Raven said, "except that it does." So Octavia looked back at her expectantly, and Clarke did her best to explain to O what she'd told Raven the night before. By the time she finished, she felt wrung out, and Octavia didn't look like she was questioning her sanity any less. 

"There's only one way to know for sure, right?" Octavia said finally. "Next full moon, you have to stay and see if she de-statue-fies again. And if she does... she's got some 'splainin' to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this will be my only post for November. I'll be taking a hiatus for NaNoWriMo, and will return in December. 
> 
> Also one last reminder to check out my [Will Write For Votes](https://ironicsnowflake.tumblr.com/post/631276517801984000/will-write-for-votes) post. Stay safe out there, and PLEASE VOTE.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter contains discussions/descriptions of medical procedures involving needles. (And somewhat dubious science, but shhh...) It also contains discussions of Lexa's possible/imminent death, although we know that she doesn't truly die.

_**Waxing Moon** _

Clarke found that she was actually grateful for all of the papers and projects that marked the end of the semester; they kept her distracted from the way time crawled when she wasn't busy. She'd marked the next full moon on her calendar, and every night she crossed the day off until finally it was the day before.

"Do you have a plan?" Octavia asked, her voice slightly muffled by a mouthful of muffin. They were at the café again, working in companionable silence. Raven looked up from what she was doing, an eyebrow raised. 

"A plan for what?" Clarke asked.

"Your statue-girl," Octavia said. "It's tomorrow, right? So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. "Just... talk to her, I guess. Ask her how she ended up like that."

"What if she doesn't know?" Octavia asked. "Then what?"

"I don't know," Clarke repeated. "What does it matter to you?"

She didn't mean to snap, but it wasn't as if she hadn't thought about the possibility that Lexa might not have any answers for her. Worse than that, though, was the thought that maybe Lexa wouldn't appear at all, that the statue would remain a statue, and she would be left thinking, or maybe knowing, that she was losing, or had already lost, her mind. 

Octavia held her hands up. "Fine. Whatever. I was just asking."

"I don't know what I'm going to ask," Clarke said. "I don't know what I'm going to do. If she's there, then... I'll just see how it goes. See what happens. It's not a big deal."

Octavia snorted, and Raven rolled her eyes. "Lie to us if you want to," Raven said. "But don't lie to yourself. It's— _she's_ all you think about. All you draw. She's basically your entire world unless you're forced to think about something else. It's a big fucking deal." _And I don't want to have to pick up your pieces if you get shattered by this,_ was the unspoken rest of it that Clarke heard anyway.

"It'll be fine," Clarke said. "I really need to finish this." She gestured vaguely at her laptop, where she had been furiously typing, and then equally furiously backspacing, for the last ten minutes. 

"No one's stopping you," Octavia said, as if she wasn't the one who started the conversation. 

Clarke turned her attention back to her screen and tried to focus, but now that they'd brought up Lexa, it was impossible. When her phone buzzed with an incoming text message, she let herself be distracted. 

**Niylah:** Hey. Been a while. Everything okay?

Clarke frowned. She'd meant to talk to Niylah, not necessarily to tell her what was going on, but to tell her that maybe they needed to cool things off for a little while. Take a break from each other. But every time she'd thought about reaching out, she'd been stopped by the fact that phrases like 'cooling off' and 'taking a break' made it sound like what they were doing, what they had, was more than it actually was. 

But it wasn't fair to keep stringing her along, either, if it counted as stringing someone along when there was no promises or expectations between you in the first place. 

**Clarke:** Just busy with the end of the semester. You?

 **Niylah:** SSDD. You know how it is.

Clarke wasn't sure how to respond to that, and before she could think of anything, another message came through.

 **Niylah:** Maybe you need a break? 

She should say no. Clarke knew she should say no. But getting out of her own head for a little while sounded so good right now...

 **Clarke:** Maybe I do.

 **Niylah:** Come over.

 **Clarke:** I need to finish this paper first.

 **Niylah:** Okay. I'll see you when you get here.

And that was it. No pressure to hurry, not even an 'I'll be waiting'... and Clarke appreciated that. It was why things worked with them. 

Clarke turned back to her laptop with renewed focus and managed to crank out the last two pages of the paper in less than half an hour. She saved it, then emailed it to herself, then saved it to a thumb drive just to be on the safe side because there was no way she was losing the damn thing, and snapped her laptop shut.

"Hot date?" Octavia asked as Clarke hurriedly packed things away. She appeared to be joking, because everyone knew that Clarke Griffin didn't date. Not since Finn. 

"Not exactly," Clarke said.

"Booty call?" Raven suggested. 

"Something like that," Clarke admitted. "I finished my paper."

"Hey, I wasn't going to mom you," Raven said. "I wouldn't know how."

"Me either," Octavia said. "Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She grinned.

"Well, it's a girl, so..." Clarke smirked at Octavia's expression as she valiantly tried to cover her surprise.

"Okay, then go ahead and do things I wouldn't do," Octavia said, recovering. 

"I plan to," Clarke said, although more because she knew it was the answer they expected than because she actually had any plans to do anything. Because she really should talk to Niylah, and not just fall into bed with her. 

She really, really should...

* * *

... and she really, really didn't.

She pressed her lips to Niylah's collarbone, and up the column of her throat, and when Niylah turned her head she kissed her softly, feeling the pull of her mouth as she smiled. "Stay," Niylah said. "Stay with me."

Something fluttered in Clarke's stomach that she couldn't quite identify, and she wasn't sure it wasn't two very conflicting impulses setting themselves up for a duel. Because maybe Niylah only meant for tonight, because it was late and somewhere in the midst of everything it had started to rain, and they could hear it tapping against the windows. Maybe she was just looking out for Clarke's safety, not wanting her to drive in the dark in bad weather. 

But there was something in her tone that made Clarke think maybe she was asking for, or offering, more.

And there was a part of her that wanted to say yes to that question, that offer. This was good. When she was with Niylah, she felt _good_ and that hadn't happened in a very long time. To ignore that feeling, that possibility so she could continue to punish herself for Finn... what good was that going to do her, or him, or anyone? 

Another part of her, though, and maybe a bigger part of her, felt – knew –she didn't deserve nice. She didn't deserve good. Finn's death was her fault, no matter how many people told her otherwise. It had been his choice, his decision, but she'd pushed him to it. That was what happened to people she cared about. She destroyed them. 

But it was dark, and cold, and the tapping had turned to clicking, meaning the rain had turned to ice, and even if she'd wanted to go home, it wouldn't really be safe. 

"Okay," she said. "For tonight." 

"For tonight," Niylah agreed, and came willingly when Clarke pulled her into a kiss.

* * *

_She jerked awake, her heart pounding, and looked over at the body next to hers, sprawled face down, peaceful, like she didn't have a care in the world. Black ink crawled down her spine, and for a second Clarke had the urge to let her fingers creep over it, tracing the design, but no. She didn't want to wake her._

_She got up and dressed and grabbed her things, the supplies she'd bought in exchange for the slain cat she'd brought to have cured so she could survive a little longer on her own. The cat that had gotten its claws into her, and the scratches tugged as she shouldered her pack. There had been a part of her, when it was happening, that had been tempted to just let it take her life, but in the end her survival instincts kicked in, and she had driven a dagger into its heart._

_She glanced back once to make sure Niylah was still sleeping, and left._

_She hadn't made it more than two steps out the door before she was caught._

* * *

_**Full Moon** _

Clarke jerked awake, her heart pounding, and looked over at the body next to hers, sprawled face down, peaceful, like she didn't have a care in the world. Clarke pulled back the blanket, swallowing hard when she saw the stretch of smooth, pale, unmarked skin.

Niylah grumbled, probably at the sudden chill, and rolled over. One eye cracked open and she looked at Clarke. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"All of this has happened before," she said. "All of this will happen again."

Niylah frowned, pushing herself up on her elbow, dragging the blankets up to cover herself. "Isn't that from some movie or something?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and hugging them tight. "I don't know."

"Hey," Niylah said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Her _left_ shoulder, where there should be scars but there wasn't, because she had never done battle with a radioactive mutant jaguar or whatever it was. Had been. Would be. 

Clarke jerked away. "Don't."

Niylah backed off, and Clarke didn't need to look at her to know there was hurt in her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know," Clarke said again. She _didn't_ know. It was impossible to remember a thing that had never happened. 

But how many times had she told herself that in the last few weeks? 

How many times would she have to tell herself before she actually believed it was true... or knew it wasn't? 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just... had a bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Niylah asked. 

"No," Clarke said. "I should go."

Niylah pushed herself up so that she was fully upright and pushed back the shades. "I don't think that would be a good idea," she said. "It looks like everything out there is one big sheet of ice."

Clarke looked too, and sighed. "I'll go sleep on the couch then," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You—" Niylah started to say, then her lips quirked in a wry smile. "Okay, you did wake me," she said. "But I don't mind. If you don't think you're going to go back to sleep any time soon, why don't I make some cocoa?"

"You don't—" Clarke started, then sighed, because of course Niylah knew she didn't have to. She was going to do it anyway. Because that's the kind of person she was. "That sounds really good, actually. Thank you."

"Of course," Niylah said. She slid out of bed and into pajamas and slippers, and Clarke listened to the shuffle-slide sound of them as she made her way to the kitchen. 

Clarke didn't have pajamas, so she just got back into her clothes, wishing she'd worn something a little more comfortable. She could borrow something of Niylah's, she was sure, but then she would have to return it at some point, and she was pretty sure this needed to be the last time Clarke saw her. Or at the very least, the last time she saw her like this. Maybe they could still be friends after...

... after what?

After she confirmed that she was (still?) in love with a girl who was a statue 90% of the time? More than that. What was roughly eight hours of every 28 or so days? She texted Raven to ask her just to have something to distract herself from the fact that she felt like reality was crumbling around her.

 **Raven:** 0.0119%

So a girl who was a statue 99.99% of the time, give or take depending on the month and the lunar cycle. 

Niylah came back with a mug of cocoa and handed it to her. "Whoever they are, they're lucky," she said. 

Clarke took a too big sip, burning her tongue and the roof of her mouth, and grimaced at the pain of it, but at least it would explain away the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. 

"She's not," Clarke said. "She's anything but."

* * *

Classes were canceled because the temperature had plummeted overnight so the ice didn't melt as soon as the sun rose. Clarke got a text message from Maya saying they were going to be taking the day off at Trigeda House as well, and to stay safe. 

"Are you sure?" Niylah asked. "From what I can see, the roads look pretty bad."

"Hopefully I'll be the only one on them," Clarke said. "I'll drive slow, and I'll text you when I get home so you know I got there safe." She knew Niylah meant well, and maybe under different circumstances she would have given in and stayed. But it was the night of the full moon, and nothing was going to keep her from going up to the house to solve this mystery once and for all. She didn't care if she had to walk all the way there. 

"Okay," Niylah said reluctantly. "But please don't forget to text me."

"I won't," Clarke promised, drawing an X over her heart. 

Niylah nodded, and Clarke opened the door, stepping out into a world that glittered with reflected sun, so bright she had to squint her eyes to slits to be able to stand it. She looked back at Niylah, saw her hesitate as she reached out, settling on patting Clarke's arm before retreating and closing the door between them. 

Maybe she knew it was over without Clarke having to say a word.

It didn't make it any easier.

Clarke made her way carefully to her car, walking on the grass where the ice crunched beneath feet, rather than on the sidewalk where it was just a solid surface, ready and willing to send her crashing to her face or ass; she doubted very much that it would be picky about which. She had a moment of panic when she discovered her car door had been iced shut, and no amount of tugging on the handle could pry it open. She finally managed to get the rear passenger's side door to give, and crawled through to stick the key in the ignition, turning the defroster up full blast. 

She could have sworn she had an ice scraper somewhere, but apparently that somewhere wasn't in her car at the moment. She would have to look when she got home... or more likely just buy a new one. She settled into the driver's seat and waited for the ice to melt off enough to see, then backed slowly out of the parking space. 

The drive home was harrowing, and Clarke crept along at no more than ten miles an hour, her foot completely off the accelerator when she had to go around a curve. Even then the car fishtailed and she had to remember on the fly how to correct for it without overcorrecting and sending herself into a spin. Thankfully, there were very few others on the road and they all seemed to be driving equally cautiously, so everyone gave everyone else a wide berth. 

Halfway home she noticed one of the grocery stores was, by some miracle, open, and she eased herself into the parking lot. She didn't have much food at home, and there was even less at Trigeda House. If she was going to camp out there for the night, she should at least bring some provisions. Especially, she realized, because last time she'd seen Lexa, she'd asked if she was hungry, and she'd said yes, and then Clarke had panicked and they hadn't ended up getting anything to eat. 

Clarke had no idea what Lexa liked to eat, so she just grabbed a bunch of things that looked good, and which didn't require the use of an oven, since they didn't have one. They'd brought a microwave in for people to use to heat up their lunches if they needed to, but that was it. 

The cashier made some small talk about the weather that barely registered, and Clarke made her way back to her car, her stomach clenching as she skidded over patches where the road salt that had been spread hadn't yet done its work. She considered just going up to Trigeda House now without stopping at home first, but then she remembered she was still wearing the clothes she'd worn yesterday... and she still had the scent of another woman on her skin.

She couldn't do that to Lexa. Lexa would never do it to her.

Not that Lexa had ever had the opportunity...

Clarke shook her head, trying to clear thoughts that had no place and no use right now, and crept slowly out of the parking lot toward home. 

After she'd showered, she texted Niylah like she'd promised and tried to focus on homework, but it was no use. All she could think about was Lexa and what might or might not happen that night. She gave up and went into her studio to lose herself in art for a little while, only stopping when her stomach started to growl. She made herself a sandwich and gulped it down, wanting to get back to the painting she was working on, but discovered that now that her concentration had been broken, she couldn't get it back. 

"Fine," she said. "I'll just go. Sunset comes early today anyway." 

She realized then that this was the closest full moon to the solstice, so if Lexa really did come out of the statue from sunset to sunrise, this was the longest stretch she was going to get to have with her. It sent a pang through her she couldn't quite identify, or maybe she just didn't want to. She packed up the groceries she'd bought and brought them down to her car, along with her sketchbook and some homework, just in case she had a sudden burst of motivation before the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

The combination of sun and road salt had made the roads a lot easier to traverse, but there still weren't many people on them. Snow days – or she supposed ice days – were fairly rare this far down the coast, so she assumed most people were taking full advantage of the unexpected day off to stay home and binge Netflix. Or maybe fellow students were using it to finish up final papers and projects, but she had her doubts. 

For once she was grateful for the gravel drive up to Trigeda House; it was a lot harder for gravel to freeze solid, so even though no one had come out to put salt down, her car found traction enough to make it all the way up the curving rise. She parked and headed in, putting the food in the small fridge they had plugged in in the otherwise largely non-functional kitchen before heading up to Lexa's room.

"Hey," she said, even though the girl was still, for the moment, stone. "It's just us tonight." She smiled crookedly, color rising to her cheeks as she realized that she half expected a response. Of course none was forthcoming, and finally she looked away. "I guess I'll go get a little work done while I'm here," she said. "Might as well, right?" She picked up her backpack. "I'll just be down the hall if you need me."

* * *

The last few moments of waking were the worst, because for a few seconds her limbs remained frozen in place, but she was conscious enough to know it, and there was always a tiny part of her that wondered if this time she wouldn't be able to break free of it. 

But the haze cleared from her eyes and her joints unlocked, her chest rising as she heaved in a breath. "Oh," she said softly, when she realized she wasn't alone. Clarke was standing in the doorway, watching her, her expression unreadable. "You're here."

Clarke nodded. "I'm here," she said, a catch in her voice. "So are you."

"Where else—" Lexa started to say, but stopped as tears spilled down Clarke's cheeks. She forced herself to step – stumble – forward, reaching for her and gathering her into her arms before she could think about what Clarke's reaction might be. "Shh," she whispered. "Shh..." 

She felt Clarke's arms slide around her, holding on, and her own eyes pricked then, the sting of it agonizing as her body worked to remember how to do the things it had once done... not easily, because she had not been allowed to feel things easily, but naturally. But tears welled up and spilled over, burning tracks down her cheeks, soaking into Clarke's hair as they clung and cried. 

Clarke finally lifted her head from Lexa's shoulder, and Lexa looked back at her. When Clarke pulled away, Lexa let her go, not wanting to hold her against her will when she didn't know for sure where things stood between them. But Clarke only reached up to touch her cheek, tracing a finger down the salty trail left in the wake of grief and relief all at once. 

"You're cold," she said. 

" _Sha,_ ," Lexa said softly. " _Ai laik azen otaim nau._ "

"You weren't before," Clarke said. 

"No," Lexa agreed. "It was one of the first things we noticed. We couldn't get warm."

" _Yumi_?" Clarke asked, and Lexa wondered if she realized.

" _No, ai natblida,_ " Lexa replied. "When—" She stopped herself. "You don't remember?"

Clarke shook her head. "Bits and pieces," she said. "Usually—" She stopped, her eyes going wide. 

"What?" Lexa asked, her hands coming up to grip Clarke's upper arms. "What's wrong?"

"We're not the only ones," Clarke said. "Last night I dreamed... or remembered, I don't know... of someone back then. Or not back then but—"

"I know what you mean," Lexa said softly. "Someone from our other life."

Clarke nodded. "I dreamed of her, and then I woke up and she was still..." She swallowed, her gaze sliding away from Lexa's. "She was still there," she said. "In the dream she had a tattoo. She doesn't have it now. But she's still... she's still her. She's still the same person. Even her name is the same."

Lexa tried not to let it hurt, or at least tried not to let it show. She should be glad Clarke had – has – someone. The odds against them meeting were astronomical... but that had been true the first time, too, hadn't it? That Clarke would fall from the sky and land in _her_ forest, a hundred years before her people were ever meant to reach the ground, that they would meet and find common ground, that they would share a vision, a dream for the future, that they would overcome their differences and find love when both of them had given up on it, or maybe had just wanted to... they were all impossible things that had happened anyway. 

This was meant to happen. But that didn't mean Clarke had to be alone until it did. Or after, in their other life. She assumed this woman, whoever she was, had come after she was gone. 

"What—" Lexa asked, swallowing the lump in her throat. She tried again. "What's her name?"

"Niylah," Clarke said softly. "Her name is Niylah."

* * *

If the name meant anything to Lexa, it didn't register in her expression. Clarke got the impression that she was keeping her face carefully blank, and she had to swallow the urge to say that Niylah wasn't anyone special, or important, that she didn't mean anything, because that would be a lie, and cruel on top of that, even if Niylah never found out. 

"You mentioned Finn," Lexa said after a moment. 

"Finn was befo—" Clarke stopped herself, frustrated because she didn't know the right word to use for the other time, the other life they had apparently shared. 

"You can say before," Lexa said. "It feels like before to me."

"Okay," Clarke said. "Finn was in that life too?"

Lexa nodded, but her eyes flicked away, her gaze going to the wall off to the side of where Clarke stood.

"What?" she asked. "What happened with Finn?"

Lexa pursed her lips. "I don't know what, or how much, or how to tell you," she said. "I wish you remembered, but then I don't at the same time." Her forehead furrowed, tiny lines forming. 

"Why?" Clarke asked, feeling her own brows draw together. "Why wouldn't you want me to remember?"

"Our story is a long one," Lexa said, "even though it was short. Too short." Clarke saw her throat bob as she swallowed. "It isn't an easy story to tell. It wasn't an easy story to live. And I'm afraid that if I tell it, you won't feel for me again what you once did."

Clarke looked at her, her mouth hanging slightly open until she realized it and snapped it closed. "Does it matter?" she asked. "What I feel now?"

Lexa blinked several times rapidly. "It's the only thing that matters," she said. "You said to me once, 'Maybe someday you and I will owe nothing more to our people.' I said, 'I hope so.' This..." She swallowed again, and her eyes were wide, the green brighter than Clarke had ever seen even as the room dimmed rapidly around them because neither of them had turned on the lights. "This is our someday."

It was too much. Clarke moved out from under her gaze, flipping on the lights so Lexa blinked again, this time for a totally different reason. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "I brought food this time, so you don't have to leave." Even though Lexa had been willing to do so last time, even after her assertions that she wasn't able to. Maybe she'd only meant she couldn't stay away. Maybe she feared being somewhere else when dawn came. What would happen then?

It couldn't be that simple, could it? This... curse, spell, whatever it was... couldn't just be tied to this house, and if they took her away it would be broken?

Did Clarke want it to be that simple?

Did she want it to be broken?

Because there were still a lot of questions that hadn't been answered, and from the sounds of it, Lexa might not be willing to answer them, or if – when – she did, Clarke might not like the answers. 

But they would cross that bridge when they came to it. Or burn it. 

"Yes," Lexa said. "I'm hungry."

"Okay." Clarke headed for the stairs. "I got some bread and some soup, some cheese... I didn't know what you'd like, so I just got a bunch of random stuff, figuring there would have to be something you'd eat."

It took Clarke a second to realize Lexa hadn't followed her down, and when she looked back she saw Lexa had shed her pauldron and coat again, and zipped herself into Clarke's hoodie. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips at the sight of it. 

"I'm sure whatever you brought is fine," Lexa said, joining her in the kitchen, where her face registered a mix of confusion and wonder at the refrigerator and microwave.

"I should have brought blankets," Clarke realized. "We could have had a picnic." Lexa's eyebrows crept upward. "No picnics in the future?"

"I don't know what that means."

"When you spread out a blanket and sit outside to eat," Clarke said. "Only this would be an indoor picnic because the world outside is currently covered in ice." 

Lexa moved to the window, and Clarke watched her as she peered out. The moon was up, glinting off the ice-encased tree branches, and Clarke joined her, their shoulders brushing as they took in the beauty of it. A destructive beauty, to be sure, but beauty nonetheless.

 _Like Lexa,_ some part of her mind supplied. _Beautiful, but deadly... but beautiful._

"I'm glad," Clarke said after a minute. "It kept everyone else away. We have more time for..." She stopped, shrugged. "We have more time."

Lexa looked at her, her lips curving into the barest hint of a smile, but there was something sad in it, too. "We never had much of that," she said. "Every minute we could find felt like a gift, but one that wasn't meant for us, one that we'd stolen." 

Something itched at Clarke's memory, but the harder she tried to focus on it, the faster it slipped from her grasp, so she gave up trying. "I'll make us some soup. That might help you get warm." 

Lexa nodded. "What can I do?"

"You can cut up the bread," Clarke suggested. "There should be a knife in the drawer by the sink." She turned her attention to opening the cans of soup and dumping them into bowls she'd brought from home, putting one into the microwave. She turned her attention to other things... like trying to figure out where exactly they were going to set themselves up to eat this meal. 

She put the second bowl in after the first one beeped, and turned just as Lexa's breath hissed in, a suppressed gasp. "What?" she asked. "What happened?" Lexa shook her head, but Clarke saw that she'd put down the knife and was holding one finger of her left hand tight in the grip of her right. Clarke grabbed a paper towel. "Let me see."

Lexa slowly uncurled her fingers, keeping them cupped under her hand, and Clarke stared as blood welled from a cut. Blood so dark it looked...

" _Natblida,_ " she said. _Nightblood._

Lexa nodded and started to close her fingers again, but Clarke shook her head. "No," she said. "I'll get you a Band-Aid." She grabbed the first aid kit and took Lexa to the sink, rinsing the cut and putting some antibiotic ointment on it (because who knew what kind of germs could be lurking in a place like this?) before wrapping the bandage around it, sticking it in place carefully. 

The microwave beeped again, and they took their food into what Maya and the others had dubbed 'the lounge', which was really just another cluttered room that happened to have a few semi-comfortable chairs in it that weren't likely to be worth anything, or at least worth little enough that it was okay for them to sit on them. She dragged over a crate and set it up as a table, spreading out the food. "Dig in," she encouraged Lexa, nodding. 

After a second's hesitation, Lexa reached for a bowl and a spoon, and began to eat slowly, almost daintily, and Clarke wasn't sure if it was just because she was worried the soup was too hot, or if she had forgotten how to eat over the years. She watched Lexa as she savored each bite, picking up a piece of bread (which thankfully had not been contaminated by Lexa's mishap) and dipping it into the broth before taking a bite and chewing, her eyes half-closed. 

Neither of them said anything, but the silence wasn't awkward. It wasn't exactly companionable – there was too much they weren't saying for that – but it wasn't uncomfortable, either. Finally, when everything was basically gone, Lexa leaned back. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"At the beginning," Clarke said. "As far back as you know."

Lexa frowned slightly, but nodded. She tucked up one leg underneath her so she could turn to face Clarke more fully, and slowly, meticulously, wove Clarke a tale of nuclear war and the near annihilation of the human race, of the people who escaped to space and found a way to live there. She told Clarke a history that had yet to happen, that hopefully would never happen in this version of the world, and of the absolutely astronomical – no pun intended – odds of them ever meeting... and of how they'd met anyway, on opposite sides of a war that neither of them wanted to be fighting. 

She told her of the conflict between their people, and of their efforts to find peace. She told Clarke of their truce, and how it had begun with Finn's death, which Lexa had ordered and Clarke had carried out. 

_Thank you, princess._

Her breath caught, because she hadn't remembered him saying that before, even though she'd remembered his death, remembered the blood on her hands, the feel of the knife that Raven – _Raven_ \- had given her when she'd gone to try to negotiate for Finn's life.

_If she won't let him go, kill her._

If Lexa wouldn't let Finn go. 

_You have to help. I owe him my life._

_Show my people how powerful you are. Show them you can be merciful. Show them you're not a savage._

_We are what we are._

Lexa hadn't let Finn go.

Not even when Clarke had offered her own life in his place.

_I'm soaked in Grounder blood. Take me._

_And Finn is guilty._

_No! He did it for me._

_Then he dies for you._

She could have killed Lexa. She could have tried. Instead she'd asked to say goodbye. Instead she'd used the moment of closeness Lexa allowed to spare him the pain of eighteen deaths, and Lexa had declared it done. She had let it be enough, and maybe she'd known what Clarke was going to do, and maybe that was the only mercy she was capable of showing in that moment. 

Raven's scream when she realized what had happened, what Clarke had done, echoed through her mind, and she shivered.

* * *

Lexa stopped when she saw Clarke shiver, reaching out to touch her knee gently even though she wasn't sure Clarke would want to be touched right then, especially by her, but Clarke's hand came down over hers, gripping hard. Lexa twisted her hand slightly so that she could grip back. 

"I'm okay," Clarke said after a few seconds. "I just..." 

"If you need me to stop..."

"No," Clarke said. "No. Keep going."

Lexa nodded and went back to the story, stroking the inside of Clarke's wrist with one finger until she saw her shiver again. She didn't know why, but she didn't want her to pull away. Eventually she would; that seemed inevitable. But she wanted to enjoy the contact for as long as she could, because it might be that this would be the last time she would ever have it.

She told Clarke of missiles and Mountain Men, of the kiss they'd shared and the battle that had gotten in the way. She forced herself to look Clarke in the eye as she told her of their plans to free both of their people, and how she'd made a deal with the Mountain Men to free her own people instead, leaving Clarke's people to their fate. To their deaths. She tried to tell the story in the same way she'd made that decision: with her head and not her heart. She didn't try to excuse what she'd done, didn't try to explain her side of things so maybe this time Clarke wouldn't hate her. 

Clarke had every right to hate her. 

"I remember the kiss," Clarke said softly. "I remember Finn's death. I remember the blood on my hands..."

"It doesn't get better," Lexa said, just as quietly. "Or it does, but then it gets worse again."

"The only way out is through," Clarke said. "Right?"

"Maybe you're better off not knowing," Lexa said. _Me,_ her mind supplied. _Maybe you're better off not knowing me._ Her eyes stung with tears again and she blinked hard and looked away.

"Lexa?" Clarke's hand slid up, her fingers wrapping around her wrist, her thumb rubbing lightly over where her pulse beat, a little faster now maybe at the touch, or maybe it only felt that way. 

"I'm sorry," Lexa said, and she wondered if Clarke had any idea how many things she had to be sorry for.

If she didn't, she would soon.

Lexa told her about how Clarke had defeated the mountain, how she'd let in the outside air and killed them all in the process, and she felt Clarke go still at that, and then she slowly withdrew her hand, tucking it between her legs, out of Lexa's reach, and she deserved that. 

"You saved your people," Lexa said softly. "You saved mine, too, because with the Mountain Men dead, there would be no more of my people taken to be drained of their blood, of their lives, to keep them living. No more of my people would be turned into Reapers. You saved us all. And then you disappeared, and I can't tell you what happened in those months, because I wasn't there. There were rumors, and there was the legend of you – you were called _Wanheda_ , Commander of Death, and—"

"Stop," Clarke said, shaking her head. "Just. I need a minute. And some chocolate." She forced a crooked smile. "Do you want some?"

"I don't know what it is," Lexa said. 

"Chocolate?" Clarke's eyebrows went up. "You've never—" She stopped, and her smile was a little less forced this time. "Right. How would you have had chocolate?" She took a small flat thing from the bag of food and peeled away paper, and then what appeared to be very thin metal, as thin as the paper, and broke off a square of what was inside. 

Lexa took it, breathing in the sweetness, and then put the square in her mouth. Immediately it melted on her tongue, almost too sweet and richer than anything she'd eaten before. Clarke laughed, and when Lexa looked over at her she was startled by a flash of light. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. 

"I'm sorry," Clarke said, sounding like she was trying not to laugh. "I just... your face. It was too good to pass up. It's not every day you get to give someone their first taste of chocolate." She turned the thing she held around, and Lexa found herself looking at herself, but it wasn't a mirror, because in the image her eyes were half-closed, her head tilted back slightly, her expression one of pure pleasure.

"How...?"

"It's a camera," Clarke said. "It... instantly draws a picture of what you see on the screen, sort of. It's more complicated than that, but I honestly don't know a lot about how it works, so I'm not even going to try to explain. But look." She scooted over so she could show Lexa how the camera worked, and even let Lexa take a (somewhat off-center and slightly blurred) picture of her. "You can also flip it around so you can take a picture of yourself," she said. "Here." She shifted even closer, so Lexa could feel the warmth from her skin. They were almost cheek-to-cheek as Clarke held the camera out as far she could. Lexa could see their images on the screen, and then the camera clicked and the picture was saved. 

"Now my friends will have to believe you're real," Clarke said, then her expression grew more serious. "Now _I_ will have to believe you're real. That I'm not going crazy." 

"You're not," Lexa said. 

"I believe you," Clarke said, setting down the phone and turning to look at her, and she was so close it was hard to focus... not just her eyes but her mind, because all Lexa could think about was how easy it would be to kiss her... and how wrong. 

She had given up the right to kiss her when she'd let herself be turned to stone.

* * *

_You are so beautiful._

The words almost slipped from her lips, but Clarke pressed them together to keep them inside. Even if it was true – and it _was_ true – now wasn't the moment to say it. Was it? 

The air between them felt electric, the distance between their faces an inconsequential span that would be so easy to cross, the distance between their bodies non-existent... 

She needed to hear the rest of the story... didn't she? Lexa had just betrayed her, left her to her fate, and in doing so, had forced her into orchestrating genocide. There was no other word for it. But she'd had to do it. They hadn't left her with any choice. Right? 

But she didn't remember, and it wasn't a blank Lexa could fill in because she hadn't been there. 

_But I loved you._

Again, she kept the words clenched behind her teeth. If all they had ever shared was one kiss, she wouldn't feel like this, would she? If it had been one moment of connection, and then Lexa walking away and nothing more, the memories, or almost memories, the years of dreams of needing to give something up to save the world...

 _No. Not something. Some **one**_ , she realized. 

To save the world, she had to give up someone whose life meant more to her than her own. 

The story wasn't over. Maybe it had only just barely begun. 

"Go on," she said softly. "Tell me."

Lexa looked at her for a moment, searching her face like she didn't entirely trust Clarke's words, and she needed confirmation from some other part of her, and could she read her that well, that she would know if she as lying? What if she was lying not only to Lexa, but to herself?

But Clarke hadn't said she was ready to hear it. She'd only told Lexa to go on. 

Lexa shifted away slightly, but parts of them still pressed together, and Clarke thought maybe Lexa was a little warmer now than she had been before. "Over the weeks and months that you were missing, the rumors grew, and shifted, and I started hearing whispers that people believed if they killed you, they could take your power, become the Commander of Death. I could guess where those rumors started, and I knew who would most want that power for herself. So I had to find you first." 

Clarke watched Lexa's throat bob as she swallowed and had to fight the urge to trace her finger down the column of her neck. She knew it would make Lexa shiver if she did, knew the sound she would make if she kissed her there...

She shoved back the thought, pressing her thighs together as if that could somehow stem the rush of warmth that left her squirming. She hazarded a glance at Lexa's face, but she didn't appear to have noticed. She was caught up in her own little world... or their world, she guessed. A world Clarke did and did not want to remember.

"I sent out Roan of Azgeda, the banished son of Queen Nia. I promised him that if he found you, brought you to me, I would lift his banishment, let him return to his people. It was a gamble, perhaps even a folly, but I couldn't let anything happen to you. If you died... especially at her hand..."

_She was captured by the Ice Nation, whose queen believed she knew my secrets. Because she was mine. Tortured her, killed her, cut off her head._

"Costia." The name was out of Clarke's mouth before she realized she remembered it.

Lexa looked at her sharply. "No," she said. "Nia."

Clarke shook her head, then nodded, not sure which was the right response at that moment. Was there a right response? "She killed Costia. You thought you would never get over the pain, but you did. By recognizing it for what it was: weakness." 

"You remember," Lexa said. 

"Only just now," Clarke said. "It's... easier, I think, when I'm near you."

Lexa nodded as if that made sense, but how could it? It wasn't as if there was any precedent for what was happening here. How could there be? "I thought I could make myself stop caring. You called me a hypocrite... and you were right. Even though caring about people put them in danger, made them targets, I couldn't make myself stop caring. Especially about you." 

Clarke could see the pain in Lexa's eyes, and she wanted to make it better. _Needed_ to make it better. 

_You're driven to fix everything for everyone. But you can't fix this. I have to do this on my own, and you have to let me me._

_I won't just sit there and watch you die!_

_I'm glad you came._

_Me too._

_Is this I told you so?_

_This is thank you._

The memories tumbled over and around each other, snatches of words, flickers of scenes she couldn't quite catch hold of, and Clarke put her hand to Lexa's cheek, drawing her closer so their foreheads rested against each other. Lexa's hand came up, long fingers circling Clarke's wrist, but she didn't pull her hand away. She held it there, and turned and kissed Clarke's palm, but it wasn't Clarke who had been injured that day.

Clarke slid her hand through Lexa's grasp, gripping her fingers and turning her hand over, and there was a scar where the blade had bit through the leather of her gloves, and blood black as the space between the stars had poured between her fingers, and Clarke had taken her hand later and changed the bandage, not because it needed it, really, but because she needed to do _something_ , or maybe just because she needed to touch Lexa, to feel her warm and solid, alive, even though she was still angry, even though she was still trying to cling to hatred...

Was she, though? Had she been? She had told Lexa she was just doing what was right for her people, and she had seen the impact those words had had, the way the hope in Lexa's eyes had flickered and died... but had she really been telling the truth? Or had she said what she thought she needed to say to protect herself from the feelings that were welling up again, the feelings that had been woken with that first kiss and that she'd thought were destroyed at Mount Weather...

Clarke traced her thumb over the scar, squeezing her eyes shut against the sudden tears. She felt Lexa's fingers curl over hers, trapping her thumb, and she felt the dampness of the tears that had fallen despite her efforts to keep them contained, fallen right into Lexa's hand.

"I hate this," she whispered, her voice ragged. "I hate this." 

"I know," Lexa said. "We don't have to—"

Clarke shook her head. "I mean I hate that I don't remember. I hate that I remember bits and pieces, but I don't even know where in the story they belong. I need you to help me put the pieces together." _I need you._

_I don't **want** the next commander! I want you!_

The words came with the flash of an image, of black blood slipping between her fingers as it had slipped through Lexa's, and it was Lexa's blood, flowing from a bullet wound to her abdomen, and she started to shake. She pulled her hand from Lexa's and pushed up the hem of her shirt, and there was another scar. 

"Tell me," she demanded, a fingertip resting on it. "Tell me everything."

* * *

It took all night. The failed coup, the massacre of 300 of Lexa's people – or 299, technically – at the hands of Clarke's people, which fractured Lexa's people's faith in her when she did not respond with the immediate eradication of Skaikru in its entirety. Fractured it so badly her own closest advisor had tried to murder Clarke, who he saw as the cause of her weakness. He had nearly killed her instead, and would have if Clarke hadn't had training as a healer of her people. 

Clarke going back to her own people to convince them that peace was still possible, that the Commander would still be merciful... up to a point. Lexa having to strike a balance between the old way of _jus drein jus daun_ and the possibility, the hope, of a peaceful future to prevent another uprising of her people against her.

The leader of the massacre, Pike, was put to death, and this time her people were not denied the opportunity for a righteous kill. For him, there was no mercy. For the rest of those who had gone along with him, there was a trial, and they were given the opportunity to speak for themselves, and for others from Skaikru to speak for them. Although the cruelty they had faced at the hands of Azgeda did not justify the cold-blooded murder of an army of Trikru warriors sent to protect them from facing that same threat again, in the end the decision was made, by the counsel of the ambassadors of the 13 clans, that they would be given a choice: banishment, or they could stay and live with their people, as long as they never picked up a weapon again. They would be allowed knives as tools when necessary, but if they were seen with a gun, or any other weapon whose primary purpose was to eliminate life, their own would be forfeit.

It had seemed more than fair, and they had all chosen to stay. 

Then there had been the madness with the chips and the City of Light, brought about once again by one of the leaders, or former leaders, of Skaikru. Thankfully Raven had been able to help them find a way to shut it down before the man dragged more than a handful into madness. It had left Lexa wondering if maybe she might not have been better off eliminating Skaikru, but of course she couldn't do that. Clarke would never forgive her, and some of them might prove useful if they could ever accept that they weren't in charge here, that they weren't any better than anyone else, and they certainly weren't any more civilized, although they seemed to think that they were. (How was tossing someone off the station to die in space for any infraction, however minor, any better than blood must have blood, she wondered?) 

But they'd gotten through it, and Lexa had recovered from her wounds, and they'd thought they might actually have a chance at a real, lasting peace. They thought their hope for a better future for the people, especially the children, of all clans, might finally come to pass.

Then people had started getting sick. It had started with Floukru, with Luna and a handful of her people stumbling into the Skaikru camp looking for aid. Clarke had been there at the time, had heard her mother's diagnosis of acute radiation sickness, and had sent for Lexa immediately.

Of those who had come to Arkadia, only Luna had survived, her Nightblood protecting her somehow from the radiation. Lexa had given her what comfort she could, but it had been years, and the last time they'd seen each other, they had been pitted against each other in a fight to the death to become the next Commander. But Luna had run from the Conclave, and Lexa had ascended, with her first act as Commander being to stop anyone from going after Luna to drag her back and make her face the consequences of her cowardice.

Luna had agreed to let Clarke's mother and the other Skaikru healers study her blood while Raven tried to figure out just how much time they had before the radiation got to everyone, killed them all. Lexa offered her own blood, too, because the more they had, the faster they could find answers, right? And from the grim look on Raven's face as she'd looked at things Lexa could only begin to comprehend, time was something they didn't have a lot of.

The world was ending. Again. In fire and death and destruction. _Praimfaya_ all over again, and there was nothing they could do to stop or slow it. They could only try to shield themselves from it, and shelter was part of that, but Nightblood was apparently the true key. 

Which meant almost everyone would die. _Clarke_ would die. 

Until they figured out they could turn people into Nightbloods. Until they figured out they could create it, and inject people with it, and their bodies would begin to synthesize it on their own. It wouldn't save everyone, but it might save enough of them that the human race could continue. 

And it would save Clarke.

The trouble was that the procedure to gather what they needed wasn't unlike what the Mountain Men had been doing to Clarke's people at the end – extracting their bone marrow, of which there was a limited supply. More limited, with more people to be saved, and Lexa would not let her novitiates be harmed, be _killed_ , even if it meant saving hundreds more.

"It was an impossible choice," Lexa said softly. "And I was the only one who could make it."

Clarke looked at her, shifting closer and sliding an arm around her as she shivered. "What did you do?"

"I gave _them_ a choice," Lexa said. "They wouldn't have had a choice in the Conclave, if I had died and one of them had been forced to ascend. One of them would have lived, and the rest would have died at each other's hands. I didn't want that for them. I never wanted that for them. That was why I tried so hard for peace. Not to save my own life, but to save theirs." She rested her cheek against Clarke's hair for a second. "I wouldn't let them die, but I gave them the choice of whether they wanted to give _some_ of their marrow. I hoped that once some people had been turned into _Natblida_ , their marrow could then be used, and it would spread that way. Like a disease, except it would be the cure."

"Did it work?" Clarke asked, tipping her face up, and again Lexa wanted to kiss her, because so far, despite everything she'd said, everything she'd done, Clarke was still here, and even still touching her. But now they were near the end, the true end, and she couldn't let herself do anything that would compromise whatever reaction Clarke was going to have. 

Lexa shook her head. "Injecting people with our marrow would get them producing Nightblood of their own, but it couldn't be passed on, or at least not in the amount of time we had. Anyone who was going to get the solution, the serum, whatever you want to call it, it had to come from someone who had been born with it. So I gave them the choice of whether they wanted to donate some of their marrow – some, not all, because they could regenerate marrow and continue to provide it over time, if people could be kept alive long enough to receive it – to help save others." Lexa swallowed, remembering explaining to them what was happening, what was going to happen, what role they could play, trying to impress upon them that they didn't have to. They were just _children_ and they should have a _choice_. Remembering how they'd all looked at her, absorbing the fact that their people, the ones that one of them would eventually lead (but not any time soon if Lexa could help it) were all going to die, and they were the only ones who could stop it.

"And...?" Clarke prompted. 

"They said yes. Of course they said yes. They were novitiates, trained from the time they were very young to accept that their lives were both more and less important than those of their people, that they would at some point have to sacrifice themselves for those people. Every single one of them – even Ontari – said yes."

* * *

_Ontari._ The Ice Queen's Nightblood, who Nia had planned to put on the throne of the Commander after Lexa's death, a puppet she could control so she was really the one ruling over the 13 Clans... now 12 again, with the death of all but Luna kom Floukru. 

"What happened?" Clarke asked, because she knew – her dreams told her, Lexa's pseudo-life as a statue told her – that there was no happily ever after here. 

"I made your mother do the calculations over and over again until I was satisfied that she was sure of what she could safely take from each of them without harming them, and then we began. We began to take what we could, and give it to as many as we could, and hoped it would be enough. We thought it would work... we thought..." Clarke saw Lexa clench her eyes shut tight, saw her throat working, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to swallow back some emotion she didn't want Clarke to see, and Clarke wished she wouldn't. _You don't have to hide from me,_ she wanted to say, but she didn't say anything. 

"It started with the youngest first, the smallest. They began to slow down. They were tired all the time, sluggish, their eyes not as bright as they once were. Your mother said that it could be a natural side effect of losing some of their marrow, that they would recover as it regenerated it. I told her she couldn't take any more from those who were showing symptoms, and she agreed. But I kept giving, gave more because it was still needed. Luna too, and even Ontari who was the closest to grown of any of them... but then we started to show symptoms too."

"You were cold," Clarke said softly, not sure if it was an actual memory or just an assumption, or something they had already talked about, because so many words had been said, and so many words had popped up in her head that had been said in another place, another time, another life, that they were all starting to blur together. "You were cold all the time. You couldn't get warm."

Lexa nodded. "You knew something was wrong. We both did. But we didn't know what, exactly, or why. Not at first. You piled more furs on the bed, held me closer..." Her eyes filled with tears and this time she didn't try to hold them back. "You tried so hard, Clarke, and I wanted... I wanted..." 

"Shh," Clarke whispered. "Shh..." She gathered Lexa into her arms, squirming down until they were laying pressed tight against each other on the couch, and she dragged a throw blanket that had been tossed there by someone at some point over them, wanting to still Lexa's trembling. "It's all right," she soothed. "You're okay."

Lexa shook her head, but then tucked her face into the curve of Clarke's neck, and the tip of her nose was cold but her lips were warm as they brushed over the place where Clarke's pulse beat beneath her skin, and it was Clarke's turn to shiver. She slid a hand up under the back of Lexa's shirt and her own hoodie that Lexa wore, pressing her palm against skin that felt not quite warm enough. Lexa's breath caught, and then she exhaled in what was too quiet to be a moan but too voiced to just be a sigh. 

"I wanted to stay with you," Lexa whispered. "I did. We argued... you begged..." Her eyes shone with tears that wet her eyelashes and slid down her cheeks. "I wanted to stay, but _ai laik Heda. Ai ste daun sou ai kru kigon._ "

_I die so my people live._

Clarke shook her head. "Lexa..."

" _Ai ste daun sou ai niron kigon. Ai ste daun sou yu—_ "

"No." Clarke shook her head harder. "No, Lexa."

But it was too late. She couldn't argue with her not to do what she'd done, because it was already done, and now here they were. Clarke still didn't understand what had happened, what had gone wrong, how things had ended up this way, but she understood enough to know that she didn't want to hear anymore. She didn't want to have to relive it.

_I made this choice with my head and not my heart._

But that hadn't been true. Not this time. It had been a numbers game, sure, but it had been more than that. Lexa had refused to sacrifice her Nightbloods, her legacy, her hope for a brighter future. She had refused to sacrifice anything she cared about. Instead, she'd sacrificed herself to save them all. Including Clarke, and she had the ghost of the feeling of a needle being slid into her vein, something viscous and black being injected into her so that she could live. 

Lexa had made the choice with her head _and_ her heart. One life, or dozens. Hundreds, maybe, if she gave everything she had. 

Her own life, or Clarke's. 

She'd chosen Clarke.

And left her alone. 

And now they were both crying, and Clarke's mouth found Lexa's and they were kissing and their lips tasted of salt, of grief and regret and hopelessness and heartbreak. Clarke's nails dug into Lexa's back, and Lexa pressed harder against her so Clarke could feel her heart pounding, and they were desperate and needy and not gentle in the slightest as they tore at, into, each other, but the couch was too small for this and it felt all wrong and after a few minutes of fumbling they gave up and just clung, panting against each other's saline-streaked cheeks. 

"I had to do it," Lexa said. "I had to."

"I know," Clarke said. 

They got up, straightened their clothes, wiped their eyes, and cleaned up the food in silence. Clarke looked out the window, but it was still dark. "I'll set an alarm," she said, "for just before dawn."

"Why?" Lexa asked.

"Because I'm tired," Clarke said. "I want to sleep. But I won't want to wake up without you."

_Again._

Lexa looked at her for a second, then nodded and watched as Clarke set the alarm on her phone to wake them half an hour before the sun rose, so they would have a little time. They settled back down on the couch, finding a way to fit their bodies together that was as comfortable as they could manage in so small a space, and although Clarke could sense that Lexa wasn't really tired – how could she be tired when she was awake less than 12 hours a month? – she closed her eyes dutifully, but then she kissed Clarke, the lightest brush of their lips, and Clarke kissed her back, over and over until she wasn't sure whether it was real or a dream or a memory...

* * *

Lexa didn't sleep. She laid still, holding Clarke who had eventually drifted off, and whose head was now pillowed on Lexa's shoulder. How many nights had she laid awake like this, trying to figure out how to tell Clarke what was happening, what was going to happen, what she had to let happen? Not many, because they hadn't had many, but each sleepless night had felt like a lifetime. 

Not this one, though. This one felt like it was going too fast, and she could feel dawn creeping beneath her skin, a fast-forward version of what had happened the first time, what she had seen and felt happening and tried to deny, and then to hide, for as long as she could...

* * *

_In Another Lifetime..._

"Heda. You are needed."

"What is it?" she asked, the words rasping slightly in a throat that seemed to be constantly dry.

"One of the Nightbloods, Heda. The one from Azgeda. She has asked for you."

If Ontari was asking for her, it had to be serious. She wouldn't summon Lexa for no reason. There was little trust between them, even now, though Lexa had tried to bridge the gap. She'd tried to show Ontari all the care and consideration she showed to the novitiates she had helped train since her ascension. But Nia had poisoned the girl's mind against her, and the only cure for that was time.

Lexa rose slowly, trying to make it look calculated, deliberate, when really it was that her joints ached, and she felt so much older than she had even yesterday. A side effect of the treatment, she told herself, as she told herself every time. It would be better tomorrow.

It was never better tomorrow. It only ever got worse.

"Take me to her."

Ontari was in the room she'd been given, her back to Lexa as she came in, staring out the window, straight up into the sun, almost, but she whirled around at the sound of the door opening. "Who—" she started, then stopped herself, but Lexa could see her chest rising and falling too quickly, and she didn't miss the flash of the dagger in her hand.

"You asked for me," Lexa said, hoping the girl would recognize her voice. "I came. Is there something you need?"

"Are you— I wish to speak to you privately."

Lexa nodded to the guard who had escorted her, dismissing him for the moment. She knew he would stay right outside the door; she hoped it wouldn't be necessary. "We're alone," she said, "and you're safe. You can put down the knife, Ontari."

The girl shook her head. "How do I know you're not lying?" she asked, then her face contorted like she realized she'd said something she shouldn't have, and the pieces fell into place. 

"You have my word," Lexa said. "There's no one here but the two of us, but if it would make you more comfortable, I can call one of your people. I want you to feel safe." It was a gamble, but one Lexa was willing to take if it would calm Ontari down.

Finally Ontari shook her head, but she didn't put the knife down. Maybe she was afraid that if she did, she couldn't be able to find it to pick it back up again. Lexa made her way over to her slowly, deliberately, so Ontari could hear her approaching. "May I take your arm?" she asked. "We can sit down."

A second's hesitation, and then Ontari nodded. Lexa took her elbow gently, leading her to a chair and making sure she was safely in it before drawing one up in front of her. "There's a small table to your right," she said. "You can put the knife there. I won't touch it."

Slowly, Ontari slid her hand to the right and uncurled her fingers from their death-grip on the blade. She was still breathing too fast, and her eyes darted around the room like she was searching for something, but they never quite landed on anything. 

"Can I look?" Lexa asked. 

Ontari nodded slowly, and Lexa brought a hand up to steady her chin. The eyes that had been a deep brown were now dulled, gone gray and cloudy, with only traces of their former color. "Can you see anything at all?" she asked. 

"A little," Ontari said. "I can see shadows and light, but even though you're right in front of me, I can't make out your face." She jerked her chin away, ducking her head, but not before Lexa saw the glint of tears in her eyes. "Why? Why is this happening?"

"I don't know," Lexa said, which was true. She suspected, but she didn't know. Not for sure. "I'd like to have Dr. Griffin—"

"No!" Ontari grabbed her knife again. "No. Keep her—" Her voice caught. "This is her—" She shook her head. "I don't want anyone to know."

"I know," Lexa said. "I know."

Ontari looked up at her sharply, and for a second Lexa thought her eyes focused, but then her gaze drifted just a little too far to the side. "Is it happening to you, too?"

" _Something_ is happening," Lexa told her. "I don't think it's the same for everyone. I've already stopped them from taking from the children." 

Ontari nodded. "Good," she said, almost absently. "That's good." 

"It might be that you'll recover," Lexa said. "That's why I'd like to have the doctor look at you. When I talked to her about the little ones, she said she thought some of their symptoms might abate once their bodies are able to replace what's been depleted." _But none of them were as bad as this,_ she didn't say. 

"And if I don't? I can't live like this. I'd be an easy target for anyone who wanted to—"

"No one is going to hurt you, Ontari," Lexa said. "I won't let them."

She sneered. "I'm not one of your precious _children_ , Commander," she said. "I'm not—"

"Aren't you?" Lexa asked. "You're not a child, that's true." Nia would have made sure of that. Ontari was probably less of a child now than Lexa had been at her Conclave, whatever age she was. "I may not have trained you, but you are here under my protection now, and I won't let anything happen to you. If you don't want the doctor to see you, that's fine. I won't force you. Tell me what I can do."

"Why?" Ontari demanded. "I am Azgeda!" 

"That doesn't matter anymore," Lexa said. 

"I only did it to save my people," Ontari said. "I had to, or they would all die."

"No," Lexa said. "I wouldn't – I won't – let them die. _Praimfaya_ doesn't care what clan you come from, and neither do I. We are all – we need to be – one clan now. _Won kru._ Our lives depend on it, and I will save as many of them as I can, Ontari. You have my word on that."

Ontari was quiet for a long moment, then her shoulders slumped. "You can get the doctor," she said. 

Lexa got up and had them send for Dr. Griffin, who was thankfully in Polis at the moment so they didn't have to wait long. When she came in, she was followed by one of the Azgeda royal guard, the one called Echo, who had been left behind when Roan had gone back to Ice Nation to let his people know what was happening, and decide who would get the cure. She didn't look happy. 

"What are you doing to her?" she demanded, getting between the doctor and Ontari. "You're not taking anymore—"

" _Chil yu daun, Echo,_ " Ontari said, her voice soft but commanding. "She's not here for that."

Echo stepped aside, but she didn't back off far, and Lexa kept a close watch on her while Clarke's mother examined Ontari, shining a light into her eyes, asking her to follow the finger that she held up, which Ontari did only sluggishly and with little accuracy. She tested her reflexes, and those too, were slow. 

Abby made a soft sound, almost a sigh. "I've never seen anything like this... but then before coming to the ground, I never would have believed that blood could be the color yours is, either. I haven't had time to study it as much as I would like, and of course there is the possibility that there's something else going on, something else affecting you all that isn't connected to the collection of your marrow, but... when you hear the sound of hooves, think horses, not zebras." 

Ontari's forehead crinkled, the scars on her skin standing out in stark relief. Abby smiled slightly. "It means that the simplest answer is also the most likely," she said. "The symptoms began when we started taking marrow from you. Even without understanding the mechanism, it's likely the cause of it."

"So what then?" Echo said. "We just stop and she gets better?"

"I don't know," Abby said. "Some of the others are showing signs of improvement, but their condition was never this advanced. As I said, I've never seen or dealt with anything like this. I wish I could tell you that of course you'll get better, but I'm not going to make you a promise I can't keep." She reached out to brush back a strand of hair from Ontari's temple, tracing her thumb over the corner of her eye before letting it drop away. "I'm sorry."

"You can go now," Ontari said softly. "All of you."

They left her alone, but as soon as they were out in the corridor Lexa found herself pinned against the wall, a blade to her throat. She held up a hand to stop her guards and looked straight back into Echo's eyes. "I didn't know," she said. "If I had known, I never would have asked them. I never would have allowed it." 

Echo's blade eased a little, but she didn't back off. Lexa tried to act as if she wasn't in danger, as if Echo was no threat, and if Lexa had been in peak condition, she wouldn't have been. But she wasn't, so she would have to put faith in the fact that Echo might value her own life enough to know that if she struck at Lexa, she would not live to draw more than a breath or two after.

"Have you been given the serum?" Lexa asked. Nothing for a second, then Echo shook her head. "See that she does," she said, her eyes flicking to Abby then returning to Echo. "Ontari will need you if she doesn't recover."

"You don't command me," Echo hissed. "I answer only to my king."

"I _made_ your king," Lexa replied coldly. "Or have you forgotten?"

Echo's knife slipped farther, and then she stepped back and slid it back into its sheath. Not satisfied, but appeased for the moment. 

"The doctor will show you where to go," Lexa said. 

"Commander," Abby said. "There's something else I need to discuss with you."

"Can it wait?" Lexa asked. Abby shook her head. "This way." Lexa motioned her down the hall. To Echo she said, "You will wait here."

Lexa noticed the clench of her jaw, but all she said was, " _Sha, Heda._ "

She led Abby to a room that was currently unoccupied and shut the door behind them. "What is it?"

"First, how are you?" Abby asked. "Are you having any symptoms?"

"I'm fine," Lexa lied. "What did you need to tell me?"

Abby's eyes narrowed, like she knew Lexa wasn't telling the truth, but like she also knew it wasn't in her best interest to call her on it. "It's about Luna," she said. "Or more specifically, Luna's blood. Her marrow."

"Why are you telling me, not Luna?" Lexa asked. 

"Because you're the one who's making the decisions," Abby said. 

"Not for her," Lexa replied. "I gave her the choice, and she chose to do this. They all chose to do this. If there's something wrong—"

"Not wrong, exactly—" Abby started, but Lexa cut her off.

"If there's something wrong, you need to tell her, too. She has a right to know." 

Abby sighed, then nodded. "Do you know where she is?"

Lexa nodded, and led her to Luna's room, which was also in the tower because she'd wanted to keep all of the Nightbloods close. Her feet were dragging by the time they got there, and she had to think about picking them up and putting them down in something resembling a normal gait. She knocked on the door, and it took a minute before it cracked open. 

" _Shopta,_ Luna," Lexasaid, forcing her lips into a faint smile. "Dr. Griffin has something she needs to tell you. Tell us." 

Luna let them in, and Lexa could see she was trying just as hard as Lexa was to hide the effects of the treatments on her. They sat on a couch side by side, and Abby faced them. "We're running out of serum," she said. "I know you've asked the leader of each clan to make decisions about who should receive it, but even with the numbers you've given them, the limits... we're not going to have enough."

"Then we'll give more marrow," Lexa said, with a glance at Luna. She saw her faint nod. "How much more do you need?"

"If I could take it from both of you, I wouldn't be concerned," she said. "But we've found that Luna's marrow doesn't yield the same result yours does. It works – don't think it doesn't work – but we have to use more marrow per dose to achieve the same result. Almost twice as much. I suspect it's because it was already compromised by her previous exposure to radiation. In fighting it off the first time, it's been broken down. The amount we would need to take from her... it wouldn't be safe."

"So take more from me, and less from her," Lexa said, as if it was simple.

"That wouldn't be safe for you, Le—Commander."

"We've already given them the numbers," Lexa said, "based on what you told us."

"That was when I thought we would be able to draw from all of you. As the pool of donors has been restricted—"

"I am _not_ going to ask them to give anything more than they already have," Lexa said. "Not after what it's done to them. I won't allow it."

"I'm not asking you to," Abby said. "I understand. I just... wanted you to know where things stand. So you can make whatever decisions you need to make."

"We'll discuss it," Lexa said, "and let you know."

"Thank you," Abby said. "I'll go make sure Echo gets her dose." She got up, leaving the two of them sitting side by side, not looking at each other as they tried to process what they'd just been told.

"We already gave them the numbers," Lexa finally said, at the same time that Luna said, "This changes nothing."

They looked at each other, their lips tilting in crooked smiles, because even though they appeared to be agreeing, they knew they were about to butt heads. They'd grown up together. They knew how stubborn the other could be. 

"This changes nothing," Luna repeated. "We gave them the numbers, and we stick to them."

Lexa nodded, a dip of her chin. "I'll give whatever it takes to make sure that there are enough doses."

"As will I," Luna said. "Even if it takes more to—"

"No," Lexa said. "You heard what Abby said. It could be dangerous for you." 

_You could die._ The words were unspoken but they both heard them. 

"She said the same about you," Luna said, "and your life is more important than mine. You're the Commander, after all."

"Exactly," Lexa said. "I'm the Commander. Which means it is my duty to protect my people, even if it costs me my own life. You didn't want that responsibility, and I understood. You left, and I let you go. I did what I could, and maybe this is a sign saying that I've done—"

"My people are gone," Luna interrupted. "My entire clan. I tried to keep them safe, tried to build a better life, but in the end, I couldn't protect them. I couldn't save them. I can save these people." She looked Lexa straight in the eye. "Let me do this."

There was a part of Lexa that wanted to say yes. She could even justify it, because who was going to keep the coalition going in times that were going to be some of the most trying they'd ever experienced? Who was going to look out for the Nightbloods, especially if they didn't recover? When the Mountain Men had launched the missile on Ton DC, she and Clarke had escaped, because they'd needed to keep living so they could keep leading. How was this different?

It was different because there had been nothing she could do to stop that missile. There was something she could do to protect her people against _Praimfaya_. 

"She said it _might_ not be safe for me," Lexa said. "It's a risk I have to take. It might be all right."

Luna shook her head. "Some of the children are still weak, still limping, rubbing their joints like they aged fifty years overnight. Ontari is _blind_. You hide it well, but I see the way you move. It's affecting you, too. You can lie with your words, but your body tells another story."

"We might all still recover," Lexa said softly. 

"We might not," Luna said. "Let me—"

"No," Lexa said. "I am the Commander. This is my burden to bear. You can let Dr. Griffin take what can be done safely, but I need you to live. I need you to look out for the Nightbloods. I need you to keep the peace. It's what you left the Conclave to find. It's what I've tried to build, what I'm still trying to build, and I need someone to safeguard that. Clarke—" Her voice caught. 

"She won't let you go easily," Luna said.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Lexa replied. "I really hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it does... I need you to help her. To lead, to grieve, to accept what is impossible to acc—" She shook her head. "I just need to know there will be someone who believes in the same things we believe in to help her. You're the only one, Luna. You're the only one I'm sure of, the only one I trust."

Her hands and voice shook. "If something happens to me, if I'm gone... no more Conclaves. No more Commanders. Nightblood... we will all be Nightbloods. Find another way. A _better_ way. No more children dying at the hands of other children. _Swega em klin._ "

Luna took her hands, pressed them between her palms, and they were both cold, colder than they should have been. " _Ai swega em klin, Heda,_ " she said. 

"No," Lexa said. "Luna."

A long look, and Luna's eyes softened as she understood. " _Ai swega em klin,_ Lexa," she said. 

" _Mochof,_ " Lexa whispered, clinging to hope that it was a promise Luna would never have to keep.

* * *

The bleating of her alarm dragged Clarke out of sleep, and she fumbled around for it, still barely conscious. The noise stopped before she found it, and she forced her eyes open, momentarily disoriented because even though she was waking up on a couch in a place where she'd never slept before (and probably wasn't supposed to be sleeping now), her body pressed tight against that of a girl she'd only known for a matter of hours, it didn't feel strange at all. And she chose not to question the feeling of rightness that washed over her as a pair of arms closed around her. Instead, she tipped up her face and was rewarded with a soft kiss, like it was the most normal, natural thing in the world.

It _was_ the most natural thing in the world... or it had been. 

" _Os sonop, ai snogon,_ " Lexa whispered. " _Yu don rid yu op os?_ "

"I slept fine," Clarke said, realizing that she had. If she'd dreamt, she didn't remember it, and that was rare. Rare to the point where she could hardly the remember the last time she'd done so without some kind of disturbance. She pushed herself up on her elbow, half-leaning on Lexa as she looked down at her. "Did you sleep at all?"

Lexa shook her head. "I don't really sleep," she said. "Or I sleep all the time." 

"Oh," Clarke said softly, and looked at the window. The horizon was starting to lighten, just a little, and her heart sank, a hard knot forming in her stomach. "You should have said something. I would have stayed up with you."

Lexa shook her head. "You were tired," she said. "You needed the rest. You had a lot to process."

Clarke nodded; Lexa wasn't wrong about that. Lexa had told her their story, almost up to the end, but Clarke hadn't wanted, hadn't been ready, or able, to hear all of it. She got the gist. She understood Lexa's state now was because of the choices she'd made then, and she understood, or she tried to understand, anyway, the reasons she'd made them.

They'd both been forced to make difficult choices. They'd both sacrificed their own desires for the good of their people. They'd managed to hold on to each other, barely, but only for a little while, and then duty had demanded otherwise. And Clarke was sure she'd had plenty of feelings about that, but right now she as trying to focus on, well, right now.

Because right now they had another chance... but the night was almost over, and they both knew it. 

_Don't go,_ she wanted to say. _Don't leave me. Stay._

But Clarke knew she couldn't say it, because Lexa didn't have a choice about whether she stayed or went. Did she? 

No. Of course she didn't. If she had a choice, she wouldn't have left Clarke in a world that was falling apart, that was coming to a cataclysmic end around them, alone. Clarke might not be able to remember much, but she was sure of that. 

She wasn't even really aware she was crying until Lexa reached up to wipe a tear away, cradling her cheek in her palm. "I know," she said softly. "If I could..."

"I know," Clarke whispered back, her voice an aching rasp. "I know." She forced herself up, peeling herself from the spot where she'd been wedged between Lexa and the back of the couch. Lexa sat up, then stood, and the way she moved looked like it hurt. 

"I'll go upstairs," she said. "You... you should stay down here."

Clarke chewed the inside of her lip, not sure if she was supposed to object, to insist... not sure if she wanted to, either, because how could she watch this girl... this girl she barely knew but was falling in love with (did it still count as falling in love when you were remembering feelings that were already there?)... turn to stone?

"Wait," Clarke said as Lexa put her foot on the first step, her knuckles white (or were they gray?) as she gripped the bannister. She closed the distance between them, which was only a few steps but felt like so much more. Lexa turned, her foot coming back to the floor, her hand dropping to her side. 

Clarke faced her, suddenly not sure why she'd asked her wait, what she thought she could do or say to make this easier. 

It would never get easier. It would only get harder.

"I'll come with you," she said. 

"Clarke..."

"If you want me to go before..." Clarke swallowed. "When you tell me to go, I'll go. But I'll stay with you... I'll be with you... until then. Okay?"

Lexa nodded, and Clarke offered her arm instead of the bannister, slipping it around Lexa's waist to help her climb the stairs, fighting back waves of emotion as each step seemed to become more of a struggle. They made it to the end of the hall, and Clarke helped her back into her jacket, fastening the clasp of the pauldron for her. 

Lexa looked at her with tear-filled eyes, and her lower lip trembled, and Clarke's heart broke as she slid her fingers over her cheeks, steadying her face as she kissed her, soft and lingering, on lips that were losing their warmth and color like she was growing cyanotic. 

Was there a word for turning to stone?

"Go," Lexa whispered, but she'd left it too long, and Clarke felt it when her breathing stopped, and when she opened her eyes Lexa was gone. 

"May we meet again," Clarke whispered.

She went downstairs and put everything back the way they'd found it, then grabbed her bag and went to her car. They had managed to mostly clear the roads in the night, and she knew she ought to go home, but she didn't want to be alone. She also knew that she couldn't go to Niylah's. Not now... probably not ever again. 

She didn't really know where she was going until she got there... and she was just glad when Raven actually opened the door, bleary-eyed, leaning on a crutch, and clearly confused. "The sun's not even fucking up," she grumbled, even as she stepped aside to let Clarke in. 

"It is," Clarke said. "It is, because if it wasn't I would still be with her."

Raven's forehead furrowed, and then her eyebrows went up. "Oh yeah. You wanna..." She gestured vaguely. "'Cause I just went to sleep like two hours ago and I'm gonna need some coffee if we're going to talk about feelings or whatever."

"No," Clarke said. "No, it's... I just didn't want to be alone. Go back to sleep. I'll crash on the couch or whatever."

"My couch sucks," Raven said, "and my bed is huge. Come on."

She could have made a token objection, but the truth was, she didn't really want to. So Clarke followed Raven to her bedroom and kicked off her shoes and stripped off her jeans, crawling under the covers Raven was holding up. "Thanks," she said.

"Uh-huh. You better not steal all the blankets," Raven said, and rolled over and was out. 

Sleep didn't come as easily to Clarke. She stared at her phone, at the picture she'd taken of Lexa, and of the two of them together. Finally, her eyelids got heavy and she set the phone down. She grabbed one of the spare pillows and curled around it, hugging it to her chest, and slept.

She woke with a start hours later, and Raven was sitting up beside her, sketching what was probably a robot prototype or something. "What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I remember," Clarke said. "Raven, I remember!"

"Remember what?"

"Everything."

* * *

_**Waning Moon** _

Raven watched as Clarke threw back the covers and kicked her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for her pants and tugging them on, stumbling as she went after her shoes before they were all the way up.

"There's no classes today," Raven said. "What's the hurry?"

"I need to tell her," Clarke said, shoving one foot into a shoe. 

"Tell who?" Raven asked. "And tell her what?"

"Lexa! I need to tell her I remember!"

But then she stopped, just froze with a stricken look on her face, and Raven's heart knocked hard against her ribcage because it wasn't natural to be that still, it really wasn't. Then Clarke crumpled back onto the bed, her face in her hands, and her breath hitched. "What's eight times twelve divided by twenty-four?" she asked.

"Four," Raven said. "That's not even h—" But she stopped, because now Clarke was making a noise, somewhere between a moan and a whine, and she was really starting to freak her out. She set aside her lapdesk and scooted over in the bed, putting a hand on her back as she rocked herself. "Clarke," she said, and then, "Clarke," again, but Clarke didn't seem to hear her. Raven leaned in, curving around her so that her lips were near her ear. "Clarke!"

Clarke finally stopped making that noise, and she looked over at Raven, her face streaked with tears. 

"Hey," Raven said. "Are you okay?" 

Clarke shook her head no, and okay, yeah, it had probably been a stupid question. 

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Clarke reached for her phone, tapped in the code to unlock it and brought up a picture, turning it so that Raven could see. "Her name is Lexa. Her eyes are green. I loved her. She loved me. It wasn't enough. She died for all of us."

* * *

_In Another Lifetime..._

"Your mother says you've been refusing treatment."

The words felt like they came out of nowhere, but of course they didn't. Lexa was resting on the couch in her room, having just given up more of her marrow so Clarke's mom and the other doctors could create more doses of the Nightblood serum. It was probably all Lexa could think about right now... or all she wanted to think about, because it was better, easier, than thinking about the pain. She hid it well, but not from Clarke. 

_She's too young to have the sort of lines etched into her face that she does,_ Clarke thought. If she had any lines at all they should have been from smiling, from laughing... but Lexa rarely smiled or laughed, except with Clarke, and even those had become fewer and farther between as the details of their situation had become clear. Things were bad and getting worse, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. They best they could hope for was that some – and it would only be some, not all, not _nearly_ all – would survive to carry on the human race. 

"Clarke."

Clarke looked up from the page she'd been sketching on without really thinking about the shapes her hands were outlining... a tower engulfed in flames, she realized, and shivered... and focused on Lexa, who had shifted to a sitting position and was holding out a hand to her. 

Clarke put the drawing aside and went to her, sitting on the edge of the couch and taking her hand, pressing it between both of her palms to try to lend it some of her own body heat. 

"Why?" Lexa asked. 

"Why what?" Clarke asked, even though she knew. 

"Why are you refusing?"

 _Because I don't want to be alone,_ Clarke thought. _Because I don't want to live without you._ It was a selfish reason, she knew, and not a rational one. But ever since they'd started to see the symptoms in the younger Nightbloods, even since Lexa had forbidden her mother from taking any more from them, Clarke had known there was only one likely end to this, only one way this could go, and she'd been trying since then to figure out how she was going to live with that, or if she could, or if she wanted to. 

"I want to make sure there's enough to go around," Clarke said. "If there are only so many doses, I want to make sure that as many people get them as possible, as many people live as possible." 

Lexa sighed, but her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "You need to take your dose, Clarke," she said. "You know what the consequences are if you don't."

"I die," Clarke said. _So what?_

"Yes," Lexa said. "You die." She looked like she might say more, but then she just shook her head slightly and tightened her fingers around Clarke's, tugging her in. Clarke let herself be pulled, arranging herself so she fit into the curve of Lexa's body, cradled against her with her head on her shoulder, and she felt Lexa's lips brush her forehead. 

"You said to me once that part of being a leader is looking your warriors in the eye and telling them, 'Go and die for me,'" Clarke said. "But I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want any more people to have to die for me. If I can save someone instead of myself—"

A gust of breath against her hair, a sigh, maybe, but Clarke thought it might actually have been a silent laugh. Not because what she'd said was funny, though. There was nothing funny about any of this. "You see?" Lexa asked. "You _do_ understand."

Clarke wanted to pull away, wanted to jerk herself out of Lexa's arms and scream in her face that no, no she did _not_ understand, she would _never_ understand, and she would never forgive her for what she was doing... but it would be a lie. And they didn't have time for lies. 

She _did_ understand. If she was in Lexa's position, she might do the same. 

"I need you to live, Clarke," Lexa said. 

This time Clarke _did_ pull away. She sat up, turning to look at Lexa, to glare, ready to unleash hell on her, because she'd _promised_. She'd _sworn_.

_If you betray me again..._

_I won't. I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru. I vow to treat your needs as my own, and your people as my people._

She wanted to scream, _I need YOU! Don't you understand that?_

But she knew Lexa _did_ understand that. She also knew it was impossible, in this situation, for Lexa to uphold both parts of that vow. She could treat Clarke's people as her people, and save them all... or she could treat Clarke's needs as her own, and let some of them die to save herself.

Clarke didn't think Lexa had made the decision lightly. She was sure she'd laid awake on more nights than Clarke was aware of (and she was aware of plenty) agonizing over what was best for her people. Their people. She was sure she'd gone over the numbers, over and over again, and in the end what was one life... or two... compared to the dozens she might save by giving just one more donation, even if it was the one that finally brought her heart to a stuttering stop?

"Please," she whispered. "Lexa..."

She didn't even really know what she was pleading for. For Lexa to change her mind? Or for Lexa to give her permission, when the time came, to let this all go? 

"I trust you, Clarke," Lexa said. "I don't trust many people, but I trust you. I need you to live, because I need you to lead. When I'm gone—"

And there it was. The first time she'd said it. 

This was the beginning of the end. 

The earth was about to be soaked in radiation again, about to be unsurvivable for all but those who were lucky enough to get the serum in time, but it was those words – really just the one word – that brought Clarke's world crashing down. 

Not if. When.

"You're not going anywhere," Clarke said, shaking her head and in the process shaking loose the tears that had formed in her eyes. Stupid, childish denial, but she didn't care. She didn't care. "I won't let you. You didn't survive a bullet just to give up now."

"I'm not giving up," Lexa said. "Maybe..." She swallowed. "I have to be realistic, Clarke, and we both know that the... the odds aren't good. Even..." She took a deep breath and it came out shuddering. "Even if I don't..."

Clarke crawled back into her arms, wrapping tight around her, crushing a body that felt at once harder and more fragile than it had before against her, and didn't let go. Tears streamed down their cheeks as they clung to each other, their bodies locked together to keep them from slipping from their precarious place on the couch. 

They didn't talk any more that night. They eventually made it to the bed, and Clarke did everything she could to ease Lexa's pain, to give her comfort, and she knew Lexa tried to do the same for her, and it almost worked. Almost. 

She woke in the morning to Lexa's lips on her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, and she sank her fingers into her hair and drew her up to kiss her properly, soft and deep, and her tongue tasted of sorrow and Clarke's of regret as they began the process of saying goodbye, of letting go, that would last they didn't know how long.

"I've asked Luna to back you," Lexa said later, as they made their way to the makeshift infirmary. She sat beside Clarke as Abby prepared the injection that would save her when the death wave came, holding her hand openly because what did it matter now? What did they have to hide, and what good would it do to hide it? "She won't lead on her own, and the people won't look to her to do so anyway. They'll look to you."

"What if they don't?" Clarke asked. 

"They will," Lexa assured her. "You have been the leader of your people from the start, and they see that." Clarke saw her eyes flicker briefly to Abby, but if her mother had anything to say about Lexa's assertion, she kept her mouth shut. 

"This will sting a little," Abby said instead, and Clarke gripped Lexa's hand as the needle slid under her skin, and they both watched as the serum, black as midnight, was pushed into her vein. Clarke bit her lip as the needle was removed, and her mother placed a bandage over the injection site. "You're all set," she said. 

"Thank you," Lexa said, and Clarke wasn't sure if Lexa was thanking her or Abby. Maybe she was thanking both. Her mother just nodded, but Clarke suspected that if she wasn't there, she would be thanking Lexa in return. 

Lexa didn't let go of her hand, even as they made their way through Polis back to her tower, and Clarke didn't object, even though she suspected there was something a little calculated in the move. Yes, the Grounders might see her as a leader of her people, but that didn't mean they would follow her. If they saw her as Lexa's, though...

But look what had happened to Costia.

The thought was almost enough to make her pull away. Almost, but not quite. Since Nia's death, Ice Nation had been (perhaps surprisingly) quiet. They hadn't made any more moves towards usurping Lexa's position, making a grab for her power. 

Maybe they realized there was no point. Maybe they didn't want the responsibility of guiding all thirteen clans... or twelve clans, now, and Luna... through the return of _Praimfaya_. Maybe they didn't want to have to make the hard choices and face the consequences. 

Maybe...

Maybe none of that mattered. 

"What about—" Clarke hesitated, because even if she was forced to accept that she was going to lose Lexa, probably sooner than later, that didn't mean she had to acknowledge it. But denial wasn't going to help either one of them. "What about the Nightbloods?" she asked. "If you—won't there be a Conclave?"

Lexa shook her head. "We will all be Nightbloods," she said. "Or those who survive will be. It doesn't mean what it did anymore. It won't. There will be no Conclave."

"Then how will you—we—decide who will become the next Commander?"

Lexa shook her head again. "There won't be a next Commander," she said. "You will lead, and Luna will back you. It will be your world, and you can choose how you want to run it. You can form a council, or... whatever you think is going to work best," she said. "I'll help as much as I can, for as long as I can. I'll try to smooth the way for you."

Clarke nodded. "Okay," she said. "But I'd rather not have to."

"I know," Lexa said, and there was a tenderness in her eyes and in her smile that bordered on pity, edged into heartbreak. "I would rather you didn't have to, too."

"Then—" But Clarke stopped herself. It wasn't fair. 

"Please don't think this is easy," Lexa said, when they were safely back in their room. 

"I don't," Clarke said. "I know it's not."

* * *

Raven rubbed at her temples, trying to absorb all of this, everything Clarke was telling her, but there was a part of her mind that was still stuck on the fact that apparently she had lived another life, or would live another life, and in it she would be with Finn, up until he cheated on her with Clarke, up until Clarke killed him... to spare him the pain of eighteen deaths because he'd massacred a village because he thought that they were keeping Clarke from him. 

Some things never changed, she guessed. 

"Hold on," Raven said finally. "Just... give me a minute to process all of this."

Clarke stopped. "I can make you coffee if you want."

"Yeah," Raven said. "Thanks." Not because she wanted coffee, but because she really did need a minute, and having Clarke sitting there looking at her wasn't going to help her settle her nerves, or whatever it was she needed to do right now. She didn't even know. 

What was Clarke even trying to accomplish, telling her all of this? What did she get out of it, or what did she think Raven was going to get out of it? Maybe she just needed to say it, and that was fine, Raven guessed, but did she expect her to be able to _do_ something? Because if she was being honest, all of this sounded pretty fucking crazy to her, and even though she'd told Clarke she would believe her... and even though Clarke now had a picture of this girl who was sometimes a statue being clearly not a statue... it was a pretty hard story to swallow. 

Maybe the girl was just a girl, and the resemblance to the statue was coincidence and the rest of it was all just some kind of really elaborate dream. She didn't think Clarke was making it up, at least not intentionally, but that didn't negate the possibility that it wasn't actually true, either. 

Clarke came back a few minutes later with two cups of coffee, black for Raven and a little cream and sugar for herself. Raven wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep through her skin and into her joints, which ached from gripping a pencil too tightly for too many hours at a time. And for what? She'd pushed herself to finish a project that she'd then gotten a two day extension on. She blew on the coffee, breaking the surface tension to release more steam, and took a sip. 

Clarke fidgeted with the bedspread, picking at a loose thread, and Raven reached out to stop her before she managed to turn it into a hole. "Sorry," Clarke mumbled. "I just..."

"It's fine," Raven said. "You can keep going if you want to." 

She saw Clarke's shoulders slump slightly. "You don't want to hear it," she said, her expression flat. It wasn't a question. "It's okay." She took a gulp of her coffee and winced as it burned her mouth, probably all the way back to her tonsils. "I'm sorry," she added. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I won't—"

Raven reached out and put her hand on Clarke's knee. "It's not that I don't want to hear it," she said. "But I don't know what you want me to do."

"Nothing," Clarke said. "I don't want you to do anything. I don't—" Her voice cracked, broke, and took a piece of Raven's heart with it as she caught the helpless, hopeless look in Clarke's eyes. "There's nothing you can do. There's nothing any of us can do. Not then, not now, not..." She seemed to collapse in on herself. "Maybe this is just my chance to say the goodbye I never got to."

* * *

_In Another Lifetime_

"This is the last one," Lexa said softly. "Okay? This is the last time, and then it's done, and whatever happens... happens."

Clarke handed her a cup of water and Lexa sipped it slowly, licking her lips to try to give them a little moisture, so when Lexa forced a smile they didn't crack and bleed. "You don't have to do this," Clarke said softly, taking the cup back and setting it aside, sliding a little closer to Lexa on the bed she hadn't gotten out of since early yesterday evening, even though she was usually up with the sun, or sometimes before it. (It was getting harder to tell day from night as _Praimfaya_ approached, with the weather turned on its head and dark clouds that rained ash closing in on them minute by minute.) "You've done—"

Lexa shook her head, and Clarke stopped, because it was hard for Lexa to speak much above a whisper anymore without it being a strain. She could talk over her, force Lexa to hear her, but that wasn't who they were. That wasn't what they did to each other. Lexa had always showed her respect, even when they didn't agree. The least Clarke could do was to give her the same. 

"I have to do this, Clarke. It is my duty to my people. Whatever else I am, I am the Commander first."

"No, you're not!" Clarke insisted. "You weren't born the Commander! You were born Lexa, Lexa _kom Trikru_ , and you're not a what, you're a who, and—"

She stopped again as Lexa's hand came to rest over hers, cold fingers sliding around her wrist and squeezing gently. Clarke could see the tears forming in the corners of Lexa's eyes, but she was still trying to smile, still trying to make this okay somehow. "The Commander's spirit chose me."

Something in Clarke snapped. " _Fuck_ the Commander's spirit!" She pushed herself up, standing at the edge of the bed, looming over Lexa, furious but frantic too. "Please, Lexa. I need you. I need _you_." And then she said the thing she had sworn to herself she wouldn't say, used the leverage she'd told herself she wouldn't use. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and she had never been more desperate. "You promised."

Lexa's eyes fluttered closed, and Clarke saw her breath hitch, saw her lip tremble and saw the blood drain from it as she bit the inside of it. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes down into her hair, one after another, but she was so quiet, her breathing gone slightly ragged but if Clarke hadn't been looking right at her, she might not have noticed. 

"Clarke," she whispered, turning over her hand so it was palm up, reaching for her with what seemed like it might be the last of her strength, and Clarke collapsed beside her, burrowing into her arms, clinging, her tears soaking Lexa's shirt and hair as she whispered over and over again that she was sorry, sorry, sorry...

They finally made it to the infirmary, Lexa forcing herself to walk at as normal a pace as possible, her hand resting in the crook of Clarke's elbow as casually as she could manage, but Clarke felt her fingers dig in every time her stumbled over the raised edge of a cracked stone, because she couldn't lift her feet high enough to clear them. 

They got her settled onto a table and Abby came over. She took one look at Lexa and opened her mouth, but Lexa cut her off before she said anything. 

"It must be done," Lexa said. "I gave them the numbers. It must be done."

Abby looked at Clarke and shook her head slightly. _This isn't a good idea,_ she said silently. _There's not enough of her left._

Clarke stroked back Lexa's hair, leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We'll be back in a minute," she said, not giving her the chance to object as she walked away, forcing her mother to follow. "She knows," Clarke said. "She knows the risks. She knows the likely outcome. She accepts it."

Abby pressed her lips into a line. "Do you?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I could refuse to do the extraction," Abby said. "I could say that I'm not willing to take that risk, that my first directive as a doctor is to do no harm, and that I know doing it would cause her harm that is potentially irreparable."

For a second Clarke was tempted. Her mother would do it. Clarke knew she would. She loved Clarke enough that she would go toe-to-toe with the Commander to save the girl her daughter loved, even when those two people were one and the same. 

But she could hear Lexa's arguments without her even having to make them. 'We gave them the numbers. If you don't do this, if _I_ don't do this, then who will be the one to tell them we're sorry, but some of those who were promised a chance at life won't get that chance after all? Who will be the one to choose who lives and who dies? What if it's one of your people on the list of those waiting for these last few doses? Are you willing to accept their death in exchange for my life?'

Sometimes Clarke thought she would be willing to let everyone else die if it meant she got to keep Lexa, but no. They weren't allowed to be selfish. 

How could one person's life be worth so much more and so much less than everyone else's, all at once?

She shook her head. "It has to be done," Clarke said. "And I have to accept it, because I know she would if our roles were reversed." 

Abby looked at her for a long moment, then nodded, her lips pressed together in a grim line. "I have an idea of how we might at least alleviate the symptoms for a while," she said. "But I think you'll have to be the one to convince her to accept it."

"What?" Clarke asked.

"A blood transfusion," Abby said. "From what I've been able to determine, Nightblood is essentially its own blood type, so they can all accept blood from each other. If we took just a little blood – not marrow, just blood – from the others, it might at least make her feel better. I can't be sure, because the testing we've been able to do has been extremely limited, and time even more so, but it seems like many of the symptoms they're experiencing, although not typical for an average patient, could potentially be caused by the depletion of the marrow, and the resulting lack of blood production. With a transfusion of new blood, perhaps it could slow or even reverse the symptoms while her body regenerates her marrow."

"Do you already have the blood?" Clarke asked. "For the transfusion?"

Abby shook her head. "No, but I don't think it would take long to get it. I have no doubt that all of her little ones would be quick to volunteer to give a little back to her. Not even as much as we would take at the Ark for a standard donation. They might need to drink a little more water, eat a little extra, but it would hardly affect them at all."

"I'll try," Clarke said, but she wasn't overly optimistic.

In the end it was Aden who convinced her. He'd come in for a routine exam to see if there had been any improvement in his symptoms, and when he saw the state Lexa was in, and heard Clarke telling her what her mother had said, and Lexa's subsequent refusal, he'd... not pleaded, exactly, but close to it, to be allowed to give her something back. Lexa had finally given in, too exhausted (and maybe too grateful) to argue.

After the marrow extraction was complete, Abby hung up the IV with the bag of black blood and inserted the needle into Lexa's vein, her forehead furrowing as she struggled to get it in place. Lexa hardly reacted as the doctor seemed to fish around in her arm, and Clarke had to turn away, unable to look. 

Finally, the blood began to flow through the tubing, draining into Lexa's arm. 

The change was almost immediate. Color came back to her cheeks and the cloudiness cleared from her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she looked like Lexa and not just a ghost of herself. Encouraged, Abby hung a second bag, which she'd been planning to save, giving Lexa as much as she thought her body could handle given the fact that she wasn't actively losing blood. 

"How do you feel?" Clarke asked, taking her hand. Her _warm_ hand. 

"Good," Lexa said. "Better." 

She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the table, but Abby reached out and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from standing. "Hold on," she said. "You're still attached." They waited for Abby to remove the needle from Lexa's arm, wrapping a bandage gently around it. "Take it easy," she said. "Even if you're feeling good, you're still recovering."

Clarke knew the words were meant more for her than for Lexa, because she was the only one who might have any influence over her. She took Lexa's arms and helped her to stand, gripping her forearms as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes getting wide. "It doesn't hurt," she whispered. 

Clarke pulled her into her arms and hugged her tight, holding on for a long time and not caring who saw or what they thought, because for the first time she actually felt a surge of hope. Maybe this was what she'd needed all along, and they just hadn't realized it. Now that they knew, Clarke didn't have to lose her after all. They could face what was coming together, as they were meant to. 

Along with her strength, Lexa's appetite returned, and Clarke made sure she got plenty to eat even though they were already starting to ration what they had, because even if Nightblood gave them the ability to survive the elevated radiation levels, the death wave was still going to cause a lot of destruction, and it might take the earth some time to recover. They needed to be smart if they wanted to do more than just survive the next few days. 

After, they retreated to their room, locking themselves in and the world out.

* * *

"In the morning," Clarke said, "I woke up alone." She rubbed at the corners of her eyes, as if she could physically force the tears to stay where they were. "I called for her, but there was no answer. It was still early, just past dawn, and I didn't think she would go anywhere without at least telling me, but..." She shook her head. "She was feeling better. She was herself again. Maybe something had come up and she'd gone to deal with it, and she wanted to let me sleep a little longer. Maybe she wanted to surprise me with... I got up and went out onto our little balcony to see... just to see, because it might be one of the last times." A deep breath in that came out as a shuddering, swallowed back sob. "That's where I found her."

Raven reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. "It's—" she started to say, and Clarke assumed that she'd been going to say 'okay' before she realized it wasn't. Even now it wasn't, and it sure as hell hadn't been then. Even though the memories had the quality of incredibly vivid dreams, Clarke still remembered exactly how she'd felt when she'd pushed back the curtain to step onto the balcony and found herself staring straight into the blank stone eyes of the woman she loved. 

"I got my mom," Clarke said. "I made her come, I begged her to fix it, to fix her, to bring her back. I screamed at her, threatened her... but there was nothing she could do, and there was no time. The time we had left was down to hours, not days, and—" She choked, grabbed a tissue and blotted her eyes, trying to force air into and out of lungs that wanted to scream and not stop.

"I'm sorry," Raven said instead. "I'm so sorry, Clarke."

"She had to sedate me," Clarke said. "I was going to stay with Lexa. I didn't care what promises I'd made, because she'd broken hers, and I didn't care. But my mother did, so she sedated me and got me to safety, and when I woke up, the world had ended. Again."

* * *

They sat at one of the corner tables in the café they frequented, which was busier than usual with the influx of last minute holiday shoppers. Octavia had gone home with Lincoln for the break, and Clarke couldn't help wondering if she would come home with a ring on her finger. She had pretty much expected it every Christmas and birthday since last year, but it hadn't happened yet. It didn't seem to bother Octavia, though. Maybe she was beyond needing jewelry to be secure in her relationship. 

Clarke and Raven had stayed behind. Neither of them had anywhere else to be... or anywhere else they wanted to be. This was the first time they'd seen each other since campus had emptied out, though. Raven had been trying to get ahead on her thesis project, and Clarke had been spending every free minute at Trigeda House. Now she couldn't, because Maya and the rest of the team were taking a break for the holidays, and even though she had a key she'd pretty much been told she was forbidden from working there while everyone else was gone.

Not that there was any point anyway. Lexa wouldn't be any less stone just because there was no one else around. Not until the full moon, and by then everyone would be back. Clarke sighed, stirring her coffee despondently. 

"The thing is," Raven said, "we don't know that it _didn't_ work. Or that it wouldn't have worked, if there had been more time."

Clarke looked up from the swirls of cream in her coffee. "What didn't work?" she asked.

"The blood transfusion," Raven said. 

"What—" Clarke stopped herself. "Oh." Lexa's blood transfusion. The one that had made her herself again... right up until it killed her. Or didn't kill her, exactly, but close enough. 

"I'm no biologist," Raven said, "but from what you said, it sounds like it could have worked. Or it could have helped."

"It turned her to stone," Clarke said. "She got better, and then she turned to stone."

"You don't know that," Raven said. "It could be—"

"You don't know either!" Clarke snapped. "You weren't there!"

Raven's jaw clenched, and for a second Clarke thought she was going to snap back, or maybe just get up and leave entirely. Why shouldn't she? This wasn't her problem to solve, and like she said, she wasn't a biologist. If Lexa had been turned into a robot...

Clarke swallowed a slightly hysterical laugh at the thought, and Raven raised an eyebrow. 

"Nothing," Clarke said. "Just... don't worry about it." 

"Sorry," Raven said, "doesn't work that way. Whether you like it or not, we're friends, and I don't just abandon my friends when things get hard."

Clarke felt the words like a slap to the face, even as she realized that Raven had no idea. She hadn't told Raven about Mount Weather, had she? Clarke hadn't told her about how she'd walked away from her people, left them behind because she couldn't stand to look at them and know what she'd done to save them, couldn't stand to look in their faces and know, too, the suffering she hadn't been able to spare them because she hadn't acted quickly enough. 

"We're going to figure this out," Raven said. "After... did they try it on any of the other Nightbloods? To see if it helped with their symptoms? Ontari maybe?"

Clarke shook her head. "I wouldn't let them," she said. "Not after what happened to Lexa. I couldn't take that chance. She wouldn't want me to take that chance. Not with her..." Her shoulders slumped. "Not her children, but close enough. You know what I mean."

Raven nodded. "Okay. That makes sense." She popped a bite of the pastry they were allegedly sharing but that Clarke hadn't even touched into her mouth and chewed slowly. "Doesn't help us now, but it makes sense. So..." She grimaced like she wasn't sure she wanted to say whatever had thought she'd just had. 

"It's fine," Clarke said. It wasn't. It probably never would be. But she said it anyway.

"What happened to the statue?" Raven asked. 

"I don't know," Clarke said. "They knocked me out, and then everything was just destroyed. I never saw the statue again, and believe me, I looked. The whole time we were digging through the rubble, trying to rebuild, I looked."

Raven nodded. "So we don't know if she was turning back into a person at the full moon back then, or if it's a more recent thing."

"Lexa talks about it like it's been happening for a long time," Clarke said, "but..." She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe somehow when the death wave hit and reduced Polis to dust, Lexa – the statue – got pushed through to this world. Like it opened a rift between realities and—" She realized what she was saying, how it sounded, and stopped. 

Raven didn't seem to find the idea ridiculous at all, though. "That's possible," she said. "You said that your room was way up in a tower. If she was on a balcony however many stories up, and the tower came down in the blast, she would have been destroyed, in all likelihood. There are very few substances that could withstand that kind of fall unscathed, and there's no damage to the statue, right?" Clarke shook her head. "Considering this all defies a whole lot of science as we know it today, that's as plausible a theory as we've got, so let's run with it. The wave hits, a rift opens, she gets pushed through to this world, to an indeterminate point in history, and she's been here ever since, possibly turning into a girl every month since, or possibly not. There's really no way to know, because even she wouldn't know if it started happening immediately or not. I don't think it really matters."

"What _does_ matter, then?" Clarke asked. 

"What matters is we have a potential solution," Raven said. "Or at least an idea for one."

Clarke frowned. "What?" she asked. "What potential solution do we have?"

"A blood transfusion!" Raven said, like it should have been obvious. Like that's what they'd been talking about all along, which it kind of was, but hadn't they already decided it had been a temporary fix that had resulted in a more permanent problem?

Clarke shook her head. "What part of 'it turned her to stone' did you miss?" she asked. 

"You don't know that," Raven insisted. "From everything you said, that was happening anyway. She was slowing down, vision dimming, couldn't get warm. Then she got a transfusion and it improved all of her symptoms pretty much instantly."

"And then she _turned to fucking stone_!" 

People turned to look at them, and Clarke glared back like _they_ were the ones who were crazy until they looked away again. 

She wasn't crazy. She _wasn't_. 

"Can I get you two anything?" 

Clarke looked up and saw a face that was more familiar now than it should have been. This wasn't really a table service place, but maybe it was when you started to cause a scene and they wanted to subtly encourage you to get the fuck out. "Sorry," she said. "We were just leaving."

"We—" Raven stopped, looked at Luna, smiled. "Two hot chocolates," she said. "Mint hot chocolates. If that's okay."

"I don't—" Clarke started, but Raven shut her up with a look. 

"Of course," Luna said, and took the money Raven handed to her to pay for them. 

"You can keep the change," Raven said. 

Luna looked at the bill, then at Raven, and walked away quickly, probably before she could change her mind about the roughly 90% tip she was receiving. 

"That's it," Raven hissed. "That's our answer."

"What?" Clarke asked. "I know it may seem that way during certain times of the month, but chocolate is not in fact the answer to all of life's problems." 

Raven snorted. "No. You said your mom said Nightblood was its own blood type. Which means finding a donor would be pretty much impossible... except for the fact that we've got one right there." She inclined her head toward Luna. 

"We don't know that," Clarke said. "Just because she was a Nightblood in that world doesn't mean she is one here. There's no such thing as Nightblood. Not in this world."

"We don't know that," Raven said. 

"We do, though," Clarke said. "It was something that was created to help people survive the radiation in space. Unless NASA is keeping some pretty big secrets, it hasn't been invented yet. So no, we don't have a solution there, or anywhere, and even if we did, it _wouldn't work_."

"We don't know until we try," Raven said. "We don't know if Nightblood exists until we ask, and—"

"When she comes back with the hot chocolate, what are you going to do?" Clarke demanded. "Ask her, 'Excuse me, but what color is your blood?' Pull a syringe from your pocket and try to sneak a little sample while she's not looking? 'Accidentally' cut her to see if she bleeds?" She shook her head so hard it made her feel like her brain was knocking against her skull. "No, Raven."

"Do you have a better idea?" Raven asked. 

"No," Clarke said, "but—"

"Then why are you refusing to even entertain mine?"

"Because it won't work! We thought it worked last time but it only made things worse!" 

"So what, then?" Raven demanded. "What are you going to do?"

"Maybe there's nothing we _can_ do," Clarke said. "Maybe... this is just how it is. How it's going to be."

Raven looked at her for a long time. Long enough that Clarke wanted to squirm out from under her gaze, but she couldn't. "You're just going to accept a life where you see the woman you love for a few hours once a month, and that's it?"

Clarke shrugged. "People do long-distance relationships all the time," she said. "They spend even less time than that together, and they do all right."

Raven snorted. "One, I'm pretty sure that most long-distance relationships fail, and two, they can at least talk to each other on the phone, Skype, email... they can at least be a presence in each other's lives, even if they can't physically be together. You can't do that with Lexa. When she's not here, she's... not here. She's nowhere." 

"Fuck you," Clarke said. "Just... fuck you." She pushed back her chair and grabbed her bag, pulling the strap over her shoulder. 

Raven pushed herself up too, blocking her from walking out. "I'm sorry if you can't handle the truth," she said, "but that _is_ the truth. And I'm trying to help you, so sit your ass down."

"You're not fucking trying to help me," Clarke snapped. "You're trying to convince me the impossible is possible, and that something that didn't work the first time will work the second, which you have no way of knowing! Even if we _could_ find someone with Nightblood, which I'm pretty sure we fucking _can't_ , what's to say you don't give her the fucking transfusion, and she turns to stone and this time she doesn't turn back? Huh? What then?"

"Then you at least will move the fuck on!" Raven growled back. "At least then you'll have your fucking answer, and you won't spend all your time obsessing over the one that got away!"

" _Got away_?" A bitter laugh caught in her throat. "That's what she is? That's what happened? She _got away_?"

"You know what I fucking mean!" Raven threw up her hands. "Having a girlfriend for what adds up to three days a fucking year is _not_ any kind of life, Clarke!"

"And hooking up with Douchebag of the Week is?" Clarke countered. 

"Yeah well who the fuck's fault is—"

"Stop." The voice was low, soft. "Please." Luna edged between them to set the mugs of cocoa on the table. "You don't want to do this. Not here. Maybe not at all."

"You're right," Raven said. "I don't want to fucking do this. I've got better things to do than waste my time trying to help someone who—"

"No," Luna said. "Raven, breathe. Look at me." 

Raven looked at her, her chest heaving, her hands in fists at her sides, but she sucked in a breath through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth as Luna's hands closed over her upper arms, her thumbs stroking her skin because even in the middle of winter Raven was wearing a tank top. 

"Breathe," Luna murmured again. " _Ai giv ai op gon nemiyon kom lanik-de,_ " she whispered, so close to Raven now that their foreheads touched. "Say it. _Ai giv ai op..._ "

" _Ai giv ai op..._ "

"... _gon nemiyon_..."

"... _gon nemiyon_..."

"... _kom lanik-de._ " The last words they whispered together, and all of the fight seemed to go out of Raven, all of the anger draining away. 

"I know the darkness," Luna said as she let go of Raven's arms. "Sit. Both of you. We all need each other."

Clarke sank back into her seat, and Raven did the same. Luna nodded and went back to work, and despite the rather epic nature of their argument, people seemed to have gone back to their business as if nothing had happened at all.

 _Had_ it happened? 

Raven was looking at where Luna had gone, even though she had disappeared from view. "What did she say?" she asked. "What did _I_ say?"

"'I give myself to the miracle of the sea,'" Clarke translated without thinking, and only then realized that Luna had been speaking a language there was no way she could possibly know, not here, not now, not in this life. Which meant... what? She had no idea what it meant, except that she was even more confused than before, and even more desperate for answers. She picked up her mug, cupped between her palms, and tried to take a sip but her hands were shaking too badly. She ended up with whipped cream on her nose, which Raven reached out to wipe away with a napkin.

They sat in silence for a long time, sipping their chocolate and looking past each other. Clarke was awash in memories, like she was the one who had given herself up to the sea, but it didn't feel like a miracle. It felt like drowning. 

She didn't know what Raven was thinking about. Or remembering. But Raven didn't remember, did she? No one else remembered, even though they'd been there. 

When she gotten to the dregs at the bottom of the cup, Clarke spun it around on the table, over and over again, until Raven finally reached out to stop her. 

"We'll find a way," Raven said. "We will. You'll get your girl back." 

_So will you._ But she kept the thought to herself. Sometimes the past was the past – or the future was the future – and it didn't dictate the present. 

"I can't let her be an experiment," Clarke said instead. "Not again."

"That's how progress happens in science," Raven reminded her. "That's how you find answers."

Clarke shook her head. "There's only one of her," she said. "There's only one Lexa. Losing her again... losing her completely... now that I know? Now that I remember?" Her eyes filled with tears and scrubbed them away with the cuff of her sweater. "I can't. I can't go through that again. I would rather have half a life, a third, a thirty-sixth, whatever it is, I'd rather have that than nothing at all."

Raven sighed, nodded. "So we have to think it through. We have to figure it out."

"You have to let her decide for herself," Luna said, having come back to get the empty mugs and plates from the table. 

Clarke looked up at her sharply, and Luna smiled a soft, enigmatic smile. 

She wanted to grab her, to demand Luna tell her what she remembered, what she knew, but she just handed over her mug. "You're right."

"Once she decides, I will help any way I can," Luna said, and then she was gone again, leaving both of them staring after her this time, instead of just Raven. 

"Is it just me, or is she a little creepy?" Raven asked. 

Clarke laughed, a soft huff of breath. "Maybe a little," she said. "But she offered to help."

"Does she even know what she's offering to help with?" Raven asked. 

"I don't know," Clarke said. "But I think maybe she does. Maybe she has all along."

Raven frowned. "So what do we do now?"

Clarke sighed. "We wait for the full moon."


	6. January

_**Full Moon** _

Lexa could feel hands on her even before the fog had fully cleared from her vision, before her limbs had unlocked and freed her from her stony prison. She blinked and shifted, trying to speed up the process, and as soon as she was able she pulled Clarke to her, burying her face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her and soaking up her warmth, tilting her head to find her lips and kissing her until they were both breathless.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears brimming and sliding down her cheeks as their lips brushed again. "I'm sorry, Clarke."

"Don't be," Clarke said. "You saved us. Now we're going to save you."

Lexa let Clarke lead her to the couch, took the bowl of soup Clarke offered and ate it slowly, letting it warm her from the inside out. She wasn't particularly hungry, but Clarke was watching her eat like she was afraid she might waste away, so she made sure to finish all of it, and the bread thickly slathered with butter Clarke gave her to go with it. 

"I remembered," Clarke said when she was done, and they were back in each other's arms, tangled together with fingers slid under the edges of clothing to brush bare skin, wanting more and denying themselves for reasons not entirely clear to Lexa, except that Clarke seemed to have something, or a lot of things, she wanted to say, and Lexa owed it to her to listen. "I remembered everything."

Lexa pressed her lips together, swallowing another apology, because saying she was sorry wouldn't change the past. It wouldn't change the decisions she'd made and it wouldn't change the fact that if she had to do it all over again she would make the same ones. 

"Do you?" Clarke asked. "Remember everything?"

"Yes," Lexa said. "I remember." 

"Then you remember our last night," Clarke said.

"Oh yes," Lexa said. "How could I ever forget?"

* * *

_In Another Lifetime..._

She was warm. For the first time in weeks – was it only weeks? It felt much longer – she was warm. Her vision was clear and her joints didn't ache. Her heartbeat was strong and regular, and her breath didn't rasp in her lungs. She felt like herself again, and she knew she ought to take advantage of that fact to make final preparations for her people, to get as much done as she could while she still could, because there were no promises that this would last.

But there was at least a sliver of hope that it might, and she let herself cling to that, and when she couldn't stand it any longer, she let herself give in to it, locking her door and toppling into bed with Clarke.

Their lovemaking was rushed at first, desperate to get as much of each other as they could. The world was ending and there might not be a tomorrow, and if this was the end, at least they would have had their fill... except that wasn't possible, was it? The more of Clarke she had, the more Clarke gave her, the more she wanted. And the more of herself she gave to Clarke, the more she wanted to give, because when had she ever been able to trust someone so completely with every part of her? 

Once the edge was off, though, they slowed down, savoring each moment, each kiss a gift, each touch a treasure, and they took comfort in each other, found solace in surrender. They slept and woke and found each other again, and again, until Lexa finally woke to see the horizon beginning to lighten on the last day of the world as they knew it. Today they would seek shelter to wait out the storm. 

She kissed Clarke softly, but she barely stirred, and Lexa smiled and tucked the furs around her, leaving her to sleep a little longer as she prepared to face it, to address her people one last time, those who would live to see tomorrow and those whose lives could now be measured in minutes.

She got dressed, boots and jacket and pauldron, every inch the Commander of the Blood, the leader of the thirteen clans... or twelve and Luna, now... and stepped out onto her balcony to watch the sun rise for the last time on the city that she thought of as home. As it crested the horizon, she looked back toward Clarke, wishing she was there with her to share it... 

... and the world went dark.

* * *

"Raven thinks maybe my mom was on the right track, but—" Clarke stopped, finally noticing Lexa's unfocused eyes. " _Sochu, ai snogon?_ " she asked. 

Lexa turned her head, pressed a kiss to the side of Clarke's neck, sending a shiver through her that made her more than a little aware of certain parts of her body. "I'm sorry," Lexa said. "I didn't mean to drift off."

"It's okay," Clarke said, stroking back her hair. She started to slide her fingers into it, but they tangled in the braids, and she itched to undo them, to let Lexa's hair fall in soft, loose waves, to let her just be Lexa and not the Commander, two sides of the same coin, but it came up _Heda_ more often than not. Her lips twitched at her own bad pun, and she nuzzled against Lexa's temple. "Did you hear what I said? About Raven?"

"Raven is here?" Lexa asked, shifting slightly so she could look Clarke in the face more easily. 

Clarke nodded. "She doesn't remember anything, but she's here, and I've told her about you, and about the past, and she believes me, or at least she's trying to believe me. She's trying to help, as much as she can. She thinks my mom might have been on to something with giving you the transfusion of Nightblood. It made you better, at least for a little while. She thinks maybe if we'd been able to give you more, the effects might have lasted. But we ran out of time."

Lexa didn't react to that, at least not visibly. Her face was a careful mask, and Clarke traced her finger along her jawline like she could somehow wiggle behind it and pull it off. "Who else?" Lexa asked. 

"Octavia," Clarke said. "My mom, obviously. Lincoln. Luna."

Lexa's eyes widened, just a little. "Luna?"

Clarke nodded. "She works at a coffeeshop we go to sometimes. Well, more than sometimes. A lot. She was there when Raven and I kind of got into it about whether we should try... again, I guess. She told us, told me, that I had to let you decide. That it was your choice. And she's right. It's your life, after all." Pressure built in her throat, making her ears ache, and she wished she could fast forward through this, get to the part where they figured everything out and it all worked and she wasn't already mentally tallying the minutes as they ticked by, each one bringing them closer to the moment that she would lose Lexa again. 

"Ontari?"

"No," Clarke said. "If she's in this world, this life, I haven't seen her. Haven't met her." 

Lexa pressed her lips together. "What happened?" she asked. "After?"

Clarke's shoulders slumped. Why couldn't Lexa seem to focus on what was important? Of course Clarke understood Lexa wanted to know what had happened to her people – their people – after she'd... gone, but that was another life, one neither of them had any ability to change now. So why did it matter so much, when they ought to be spending the time they had figuring out how to change this one? 

"I woke up and found you," Clarke said, "and I lost it. My mother came and sedated me because it was the only way to get me away from you and safe." Lexa's fingers stroked her upper arm, and Clarke wrapped her arms around her a little tighter, pulling her in. "When I woke up, you were gone, and so was everything else. It took quite a while to dig out and rebuild, but we did it." She twisted a strand of Lexa's hair around her finger, brushed the ends against her lips. "We formed a council, one leader from each Clan, and we did our best to make decisions that were in the best interests of everyone. It wasn't always easy, and we butted heads a lot, but... I think we did all right."

"We?" Lexa asked.

"All of us, I guess," Clarke said. "But Luna and I, I mean. And Ontari. She stepped up as the voice of Azgeda, which surprised some people and upset others, but she proved herself to be more level-headed than I think most people expected. She could be ruthless, and she didn't put up with anyone's bullshit, but sometimes you need someone who is willing to say out loud the horrible, brutal things that everyone was thinking."

Lexa nodded. "Did she ever recover?"

"No," Clarke said. "If by recover you mean did she ever get her sight back, then no, she didn't. She could see a little – light and shadow – but not much. She managed well enough without it. With Echo at her side, no one dared mess with her. And Echo only left her side when Ontari commanded it." 

"Royal guard," Lexa said, "and Ontari as close to royalty as was left."

"Something like that," Clarke agreed. She didn't think it had been more than that, but she hadn't ever tried to pry into their personal affairs, either. It wasn't any of her business, and for a long time – longer than she cared to admit, though she'd done her best not to let it show – it had been all she could do to get through each day, knowing that even when the sun finally came out again, her world would never be as bright as it had been during the few weeks that she'd had Lexa as her own.

"I would like to see them," Lexa said finally. 

"Now?" Clarke asked, the word out before she thought about it. If not now, when? It wasn't as if they could put something off until tomorrow. Lexa's tomorrow was in four weeks. They only had hours together, and Clarke was loath to waste them, but Raven was trying to help, after all, and maybe she would be able to help more if she actually saw, once and for all, that Lexa was a person, and someone worth fighting for. 

"Did you have something else planned?" Lexa asked.

"No," Clarke said. "It's just cold out, and you're warm." It was a lame excuse, and not entirely true. "Let me just text them and see if they're free." She pulled her phone out of her pocket, and she could feel Lexa watching her as she sent a text to Raven and Octavia, inviting them to join her at the coffee shop. She made sure to tell Octavia that she could bring Lincoln along, which left Luna, who would hopefully be working. Then it would be hail, hail, the gang's all here...

"You don't have a coat," Clarke realized. 

"I do," Lexa said. "I left it upstairs, but—"

"It's not Halloween," Clarke said. "If you wore that outside right now, everyone would look at you like you'd lost your mind, or like you were going to kill them if they so much as looked at you funny."

"That would be a bit extreme," Lexa said. Clarke watched her mouth twitch, leading her to believe Lexa was trying to make a joke. Never mind the fact that she'd once watched Lexa kick a man off a balcony dozens of stories up for questioning her. 

"You can wear my hoodie, I guess," Clarke said. "I'll just crank the heat in the car." She gave Lexa a once-over, trying to decide if there was anything she was wearing that was likely to attract more attention than they probably wanted. She stopped at her braids, frowning slightly. They _might_ pass for just slightly eccentric...

"What?" Lexa asked.

"Your hair," Clarke admitted. "I'm just trying to figure out if people are going to stare."

"So what if they do?" Lexa asked. "Let them."

"I don't want to be memorable," Clarke said. "I don't want to draw attention. If we talk about... anything, and people overhear, they might just think we're talking about a book or movie or a video game, but if we _look_ strange they might remember us."

"Is that a problem?" Lexa asked.

"I don't know," Clarke admitted. "But no one's texted back, so we have a few minutes. If you want me to, I can—"

"You want to," Lexa said. 

"Yes. I wanted to even before we decided to go out."

Lexa shook her head, smiling. "Fine."

It took a little while to pick out all of the braids and get a brush running smoothly through Lexa's hair, but once it was done, she looked amazing. Stunning, even, as Clarke found herself staring. The moment was broken by the vibrating of her phone. Octavia, letting her know that they were in luck, she had been near the coffee shop when she got Clarke's message and she had snagged them a table, and that Lincoln was with her. Raven sent a message a minute later saying she would get there as soon as she could, probably 15 minutes tops, as long as nothing exploded. 

Clarke suspected she was not being figurative when she said it. "I guess we can go now," she said. She reached for Lexa's hand and took it, squeezing it like she could push back the chill of her skin. She had to let go when they got outside, though, because the door required two hands to lock it: one to pull and hold the door shut and the second to turn the keys. 

Lexa's knuckles were white as the car growled to life and Clarke turned around so she didn't have to back all the way down the driveway (which probably wouldn't have ended well). It didn't occur to her until Lexa flinched at the noise and motion of a car passing them that she wouldn't have ever experienced anything like this before. She'd seen the Rover once or twice, but she'd never actually been in it. 

"It's okay," Clarke reassured her. "It's not far." It took a little while to find parking, though, and by the time they got there, everyone else was already there, including Luna, who had brought their drinks to the table even though usually people were required to pick them up at the counter. She turned just as they got to the table, and she dropped her thankfully empty tray with a clatter.

" _Hei,_ Luna," Lexa said gently. " _Shopta?_ "

Luna blinked once, then again, her eyes so wide Clarke could practically see white all the way around her deep brown irises. "You know me," she said. 

" _Sha,_ " Lexa said. "Yu don ron we fou yu souda frag ai op."

Luna swallowed, and Raven, Octavia, and Lincoln all looked back and forth between them, and Clarke, and each other like they were trying to figure out if anyone else understood what was happening. Clarke understood, or at least she understood the words, but that didn't mean she really knew what was happening. Did Luna remember? Had she remembered all along?

It was Luna who looked away first. "Is there anything else I can get any of you?" she asked. 

"Just coffee," Clarke said. "Cream and sugar." She looked at Lexa. "Tea? They have a berry one you would probably like." Lexa nodded. "The berry tea. I can't remember the name."

"I know which one," Luna said, and she disappeared behind the counter. 

"What was _that_?" Lincoln asked. "Do you two know each other?" He was looking at Lexa, but if he had any idea who she was, he wasn't letting on. Come to think of it, Clarke wasn't sure Octavia had ever told him about Lexa at all. The only person she'd fully filled in was Raven. _Shit._

"We used to," Lexa said. She pulled out a chair, gesturing for Clarke to sit down, then sat down beside her. "It's been a long time."

"This is Lexa," Clarke blurted out. "I've told you about her." She looked around, fixing on Octavia, who shrugged one shoulder. Apparently she hadn't seen fit to pass along news of her best friend being possibly _non compos mentis_ to her boyfriend. Under other circumstances, Clarke might have appreciated that. Now, though, it just made things awkward.

"Nice to meet you," Lincoln said, extending a hand. "I'm Lincoln." 

Clarke saw Lexa's hesitation; shaking hands wasn't the Grounder custom. After a second Lincoln seemed to realize she wasn't going to take it and let it drop like it was no big deal. Bless him. It was then that she realized her error. "Right," she said. "Introductions. Next to Lincoln is Octavia, and that's Raven." Which Lexa already knew, of course, and they knew she knew it, except maybe that wouldn't have occurred to them. She nodded to each of them in turn, and then silence descended, heavy and awkward.

"So do you go to school here?" Lincoln asked. "Or are you from up at the house?"

"I'm from the house," Lexa said, a lie that wasn't a lie. 

Lincoln nodded. "I think it's great that they're restoring it," he said. "I was starting to think they were just going to let it fall apart. People have been talking about tearing it down for years, saying it's an eyesore, but not anymore."

Clarke shivered at the thought of what might have happened if those people had gotten to the house before it had been decided to turn it into a museum. What would have happened to Lexa? Would they have just thrown everything away, or would there have been some kind of auction or estate sale? Would they have _sold_ Lexa? 

She felt Lexa's cool fingers through the denim of her jeans, squeezing her knee gently. "I'm glad too," Lexa said. "I've come to think of it as my home, in a way." She smiled, but there was strain at the edges, like she'd realized she might not be able to speak freely, to say what she wanted to say. Which was something she was certainly used to from when she was the Commander; she couldn't just say anything to anyone then, because it might have come back to haunt her... or kill her. But maybe she'd missed the part where Clarke had said no one else remembered anything. 

"I'll get them," Raven said when Clarke and Lexa's names were called to get their drinks at the counter. She pushed herself up out of her chair, and Clarke saw Lexa taking in the brace on her leg. Some things carried over... but was it that the future somehow influenced the past? Or had the fact that Raven had a bum leg now destined her to the same fate in the future? Or was time not that linear? Because now that Lexa from the future was in the here and now, didn't that change the future? 

It made Clarke's head hurt just thinking about it, or around it, because it was one of those things that you kind of had to look at at an angle to be able to see it at all. Looking at it straight on seemed like a recipe for madness. 

But she wasn't crazy. Lexa was really here. Everyone could see her. 

"Take this," Lexa said, leaning down to pick up the tray Luna had dropped and handing it to Raven. 

"Right," Raven said. "Thanks." She went to the counter, and was gone for longer than it should have taken just to grab two mugs, but who was Clarke to judge? Maybe she was trying to talk Luna out of freaking out.

When Raven finally came back, she set their drinks down in front of them. "Thank you," Lexa said. She picked up her cup, wrapping her long fingers around it. Clarke had to imagine it felt good against the permanent chill of her skin. 

"So you didn't tell him," Raven said, looking at Octavia.

"It slipped my mind," Octavia said. "Anyway, I wasn't sure it was mine to tell." 

"Or that I wasn't just making it up," Clarke said. "Do you believe me now?"

"It wasn't that I didn't believe you," Octavia said. "You didn't even believe yourself. You thought you might be losing it." 

"I know. Just..." Clarke shook her head, frowning. "What do we do now?"

"Maybe explain to me what I'm missing?" Lincoln suggested. "Or I can leave, if that's easier."

"No," Lexa said. "You're part of this too."

"Okay," Lincoln said. "Then tell me what I'm part of."

It took a little while, even with the CliffsNotes version, and Clarke could see the doubt in Lincoln's eyes even as he looked at Lexa. Like he was pretty sure they weren't all playing some elaborate joke on him, but he wasn't quite ready to rule out the possibility. 

"I wonder why Clarke remembers and the rest of you don't," Lexa said. "I would say Nightblood, but you all had it, or you wouldn't have survived, from what Clarke said." 

"But none of us have it now," Clarke said. "As far as I know. My blood is certainly red."

"So's mine," Raven said.

"Me too," Octavia agreed, and Lincoln nodded. 

Lexa looked over at where Luna was wiping down the same spot on the counter she'd been scrubbing for at least the last ten minutes. Luna looked away, her tension clearly visible to anyone who was paying the slightest attention. Lexa started to get up, but Clarke put a hand on her arm. "I don't think you can just go up to a stranger and ask them what color their blood is," she said. 

"She's not a stranger," Lexa countered. "I knew her longer than I knew you. We grew up together."

"Not in this life," Clarke pointed out. "You don't know whether or not she remembers."

"She remembers," Lexa said. "Enough, anyway."

"Still—"

"She was the one who said it had to be my choice, wasn't she?" Lexa asked. "That's what you said."

"Yes," Clarke said, and took her hand away. If she wanted Lexa to make a choice, to make a decision, she had to let her do it her way. She just hoped it didn't somehow end up blowing up in their faces. 

Lexa got up, and for a second it looked like Luna was going to bolt, but then she straightened her shoulders, and after a moment, she motioned for Lexa to follow her. They went down the little hall to the bathrooms, and out the door at the end. Clarke tensed, not liking Lexa being out of her sight. Like if she couldn't see her, she might disappear, and not just back into a statue but into thin air. 

"Hey," Raven said. "It's okay."

"Right," Clarke said. 

"She'll be back."

"I know." In her head, anyway. Her heart was a different matter, because now that she remembered, she remembered what living without Lexa had been like, and she didn't care to repeat it.

* * *

"You don't have to be afraid of me," Lexa said. "You know I would never hurt you."

Luna's eyebrows went up. "Yes, you would," she said. "If you had to, you would. As you said, I ran before I had to kill you."

"Why?" Lexa asked. "Why did you run?"

"Because I was tired of fighting," Luna said. "They made me kill my brother. I had his blood on my hands, his token around my neck, and I realized that if I could do that, I could do anything. I could kill you, kill all of you. I could be the Commander. And then what? What would I have then? Nothing, and no one."

Lexa closed her eyes. She remembered her relief at finding out Luna had fled the Conclave, because she had known that of all the other novitiates, Luna was the only true threat. She was stronger, smarter, more driven than the others. She had been honed into a weapon just as Lexa had been, and when they clashed, even in training, the outcome had always been far from certain. 

It wasn't that Lexa wanted to kill the others. She didn't. They were her friends, her sisters and brothers, the closest thing to family she had, along with Titus and Anya. But she wanted to win, because that was the only way things would ever change. At least she hoped they would. Hoped they could. 

She opened her eyes again at the brush of Luna's fingers on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry for what happened to the girl you loved."

"Costia."

" _Sha._ Even _Floukru_ heard what _Azgeda_ did."

Lexa sighed. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for backing me when I needed you to. Thank you for—"

"You don't need to thank me," Luna said. "I'm sure you did back then."

"I'm not," Lexa admitted. "It all fell apart so fast, just when I thought things might finally start to settle, start to change." She frowned. "Thank you for backing Clarke. After."

"I told you I would. My word was – is – good, and I owed you."

"You never owed me."

"You spared my life after the Conclave. You wouldn't let Titus come after me."

"If I wanted to build peace, I had to start somewhere," Lexa said. "Granting someone who had made the decision to value life over power clemency seemed like a good place. Our goals were at least superficially the same."

"It could have been perceived as weakness," Luna said. 

"By some it was," Lexa said. "It was a calculated risk, and one I felt I had to take. I couldn't have forgiven myself if you had spared me and I didn't do the same for you. Anyway, who was there to challenge me? I was the one who created another option for removing the Commander." 

"I'm sorry," Luna said. "I didn't know my ambassador—"

Lexa shook her head. "Their vote failed. It doesn't matter. That's not what I need to talk to you about."

Luna sighed. "I know." She hesitated, then finally met Lexa's eyes. "Ask what you need to ask."

"Have you always remembered?" 

"No, not always. Not as much as I do now, anyway. I used to dream of a world... a world of blood and death and water, of fire and destruction... I used to dream of it more nights than not, but it took a long time before it seemed like anything other than a dream. It wasn't until I came here, actually, for school."

Lexa turned the idea over in her head. Proximity, then? Clarke had said she'd had dreams too, but it wasn't until she was actually in the house that those dreams had started to turn into memories. Luna hadn't been into the house, but that didn't rule out the possibility that there was something about this place, or nearness to her, that triggered a reaction in those who had also been part of that other world. Her world. 

"You've lived a normal life here?"

"In the sense that you mean, yes," Luna said. "I was born in this world, had a family, grew up. I didn't just appear one day, fully grown." She smiled slightly. "I'm not another statue come to life."

"I'm glad," Lexa said. "One of us is enough." She reached out, turned Luna's hand over, brushed her fingers over her pulse. 

Luna looked down, then wrapped her fingers around Lexa's and squeezed. "The doctors never knew what to make of it. I was lucky that my parents didn't want my brother and I turned into lab animals, or we would have been subjected to every test there is. As it was, we were healthy and neither of us ever needed a transfusion, so that was good enough for them."

"You have a brother."

Luna's gaze dropped. "Had," she said. "We were in an accident. I lived. He didn't."

"Oh." Lexa put her other hand over Luna's, so that all four of their hands were stacked together and it was unclear anymore who was trying to comfort who. They were silent for a long time, just sitting side-by-side on a bench a little way down from the coffeehouse, until Lexa felt Luna start to shiver. "Oh!" she said again. "Should we go back?"

"I'm all right," Luna said. "We'll go back in a minute. But I don't think you've said all you wanted to say, or asked all you wanted to ask."

"Clarke thinks if we'd had more time, if they'd been able to give me more Nightblood, I might have recovered," Lexa said. "Maybe she's right. Maybe she's not. Maybe initially it made me better, but then after it was what made everything... shut down completely. I want to believe that trying again – if you're willing to help, I don't know if we can do it without you – can't make it worse, but what if it can? What if it does? What if we try, and I still turn, and this time I never come back?"

"I can't decide that for you," Luna said. "But whatever you decide, I will be with you."

* * *

_In Another Lifetime..._

"You need to eat." Her mother set a plate down in front of her, and it was like being back on the Ark. Protein packs. MREs. It all tasted the same. It all tasted like sawdust, but Clarke wasn't sure fresh food would have tasted any better. Her whole world felt as if it had been stripped of everything that made it good, made it beautiful. Because it had. Light was dimmer, sounds muffled, even her sense of touch had been dampened, and half the time she was just walking around numb.

"I ate," Clarke said. "Earlier. I ate."

"You didn't," Abby told her. "I checked the ration logs. You haven't taken yours since yesterday."

"Then I ate yesterday. I'm not hungry. Give the food to someone who is." 

"I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to let you just... waste away or whatever it is you're trying to do. Do you think this is what L—"

"Don't," Clarke said, so sharply it actually got Abby to stop. "Don't you dare."

"Just eat," Abby said, nudging the plate at her. "Even if you're not hungry." But then she left her alone, and Clarke shoved the plate away. She got up and went to the window, looking out even though there was nothing to see but dust and ash and rubble. Soon they would have to go out there and start the process of rebuilding, of recovery, but not yet. It wasn't safe yet, and Clarke wasn't going to push it. Not when it felt too much like a metaphor.

There was another knock on her door, but Clarke ignored it. It came again, louder, more insistent, and finally Clarke went to it and yanked it open, ready to tell her mother off... but it wasn't her mother. It was Luna. She pushed past Clarke into the room without waiting for an invitation, and looked around like... Clarke didn't know what like. She didn't care. She went back to the window. Somewhere out there was the statue that had once been Lexa, probably shattered into a thousand pieces when the tower toppled. 

Another fucking metaphor.

"You need to eat," Luna said after a moment, her eyes having lighted on the plate. "I know it's terrible, but you need to keep your strength up."

"I'm not hungry," Clarke said, sure this would get her about as far with Luna as it had with her mother. "Give it to someone else. I'm sure there are plenty of people who wouldn't mind an extra meal, and who could use it a lot more than I can."

"Who?" Luna asked. "Who would you like me to give it to? 

Clarke turned to look at her, surprised she wasn't arguing with her. "One of the kids," she said. "Or a few of them. They're still growing. They need it."

"Like Aden?" Luna asked. 

"Yes." Clarke nodded, feeling like a puppet operated by an inept puppeteer as her head bobbed up and down seemingly of its own volition. "Give it to Aden."

But Luna didn't move. She just looked at Clarke with an unreadable expression, and Clarke got a bad feeling that Luna was about to let her have it. She didn't need another lecture. 

"He asked about you," Luna said. "He wanted to know if you were okay."

"You can tell him I'm fine," Clarke said. "I appreciate the concern, but really—"

"Tell him yourself," Luna said. "If you're so fine, you can tell him yourself. Can't you?" There was a challenge in the question, and Clarke knew what Luna was trying to do. She knew she was being manipulated, and she dug in her heels to resist. 

"It doesn't matter who he hears it from," she said. 

"You don't think so?" Luna asked. 

"No," Clarke said, but she was lying and they both knew it. Because it really didn't matter what she _said_ , it was what she _did_ that would make the difference. If Aden and the other Nightbloods saw her out and about, saw that she was all right, it would mean more than just hearing it, especially from someone else. 

But how could she face them? What could she say? 

"You should talk to them," Luna said. "They know what you meant to her. They know what she means to you. They loved her too. They lost her too. You don't understand because you still have your mother, even after everything. They were taken from their families when they were children, and—"

"They're _still_ children," Clarke pointed out. "They're not—that's one of the reasons Lexa insisted there be no Conclave. They're still children, and she didn't want any of them to have to do what she did."

"Children who were taken from their families," Luna went on, "some of them so young they don't remember their parents, or whether they had brothers and sisters, or anything about the homes they never had a chance to have. Polis was their home, and Lexa their mentor. She cared for them in a way the Commander before her never cared for us."

"I know," Clarke said. "I saw her with them. I felt it..."

"And now they've lost their home again, and the leader of their family, not quite a parent, but an older sister, maybe. They don't have anyone to turn to."

"What about you?" Clarke asked. "You know what it's like. You've been through it. They—"

"Don't know me," Luna said. "They don't trust me any more than they trust Ontari."

"I don't know what to say to them," Clarke said. "I can't change the past."

"No," Luna said, "but you can change the present, and the future. Just talk to them."

Clarke's shoulder's slumped. "Fine," she said. "I will. Soon."

"No," Luna said. "Not soon. Now."

"I need to eat first," Clarke said, because the food would be easier to swallow than the grief of twice-orphaned children. Luna sat with her while she ate, swallowing the tasteless protein and carbohydrates and hoping her stomach wouldn't twist itself into knots. "Okay," she said when she was done. "Where are they?"

Luna led her down one hallway and then another, through the rabbit warren of corridors that was the temporary home of the last of the human race, and it was the farthest Clarke had ventured from her room since she'd woken up from sedation to the news that the world had ended again while she slept. 

The door was open when they got there, and the Nightbloods turned toward them when they realized they were not alone, their muted conversations ending in heavy silence. It was Aden who approached her, the leader of the group, the most promising of Lexa's novitiates, she'd said. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, and Clarke thought she saw a sheen of tears rising in his blue eyes. "I know," she said softly. "I miss her too." She held out her arms, but he just stood there, struggling to hold back his emotion, and maybe Titus had told him the same thing he'd told Lexa – that love was weakness – and maybe he thought this was weakness too. But another of the children, the youngest of them, pushed up from the floor and crashed into Clarke's arms, knocking her back half a step with the impact. She wrapped her arms around the boy and held him close, feeling tears prick her eyes, and for once she didn't try to hold them back. 

She ended up on the floor with the Nightbloods crowded around her, leaning into her all sharp shoulders and bony knees, but she didn't mind. They needed someone, and with Lexa gone, who else did they have? 

"We loved her," Aden said. "She made us all swear to protect you before she faced King Roan, just in case, and—"

"I know," Clarke said. "But you don't have to protect me. That's not your responsibility."

"Yes it is," he said. "We swore—"

"Then we'll protect each other," she said. "We'll take care of each other. All right? I wish..." She swallowed hard. "I wish I could bring her back," she said. "I know you do, too."

One of the girls frowned, biting her lip. " _Wanheda_?"

Clarke winced at the name she'd hoped maybe she could shed, but now wasn't the time to make a fuss. "You can call me Clarke," she said gently. "You're Arli?"

"Yes," she said. "Did... did we..." But she shook her head, unable to get the question out as tears started to flow again. 

Clarke looked at Aden, who bit his lip. "Maybe you don't know, but... we just wondered... we thought she got better after, but then... is it... was it... did our blood kill her?"

"No!" Clarke said, even though she didn't know. Maybe it had. Maybe they'd been wrong about Nightblood being its own blood type, and maybe it was some reaction to the transfusions after the initial period in which she'd improved that had... done what it had done. They didn't know, and they would probably never know. But there was no way in hell she was going to let these children go on thinking that something they'd done, an act of kindness, of mercy, had been what led to the death of their beloved leader. 

"No," she said again. "You made her feel better," she said. "It was just... she was already too far gone. She'd already given too much of herself, because that was what she did. You know that as well as I do. Better, maybe." She forced a smile. "You saw her. She got better. You made her last day a good one. What happened after... none of us could have controlled that, or stopped it."

Another lie, or possible lie, but if it gave them any kind of comfort, if it let them sleep at night – and it didn't look like they'd been getting much of that lately – then it was worth it. 

"Please don't blame yourselves," she said. "You know she would never want you to hurt like that. She would want you to be wise, and strong, and compassionate. That means with others, especially each other, and with yourselves, too. Do you understand?"

Nods and murmurs of assent, and she stayed a while longer, hugging and holding those who wanted it, listening to them talk about the things they remembered about Lexa, the things they missed most. Every memory was like a splinter wedged under her skin, but if it made her burden greater, it seemed to lessen theirs to be able to talk about it, so she took it all on until she thought she might burst. Gently, she extricated herself from them, telling them they should try to get some rest... and then stayed a little longer to tuck them in as her parents had once tucked her in. 

When she finally made it to bed herself, she sobbed into her pillow, screaming in muffled anguish until she tasted blood in her throat, until there were no more tears. And when sleep finally claimed her, she dreamed of fire, and death, and the end of the world.

* * *

"I still think we need to get your mother involved," Raven said. "I'm not a biologist, and if we're going to... do whatever it is she did with the Nightblood, if we're going to try treating Lexa with it, we're going to need someone who understands that stuff. Which isn't me. I'm a genius, but I'm not omnipotent."

"Everyone mark their calendars," Octavia quipped. "I'm pretty sure that's the first time Raven Reyes has ever admitted she didn't know something."

Raven rolled her eyes. "I'm sure there's been _something_ I didn't know before," she said. 

"I'm sure there's been plenty of things you haven't known before," Octavia said. "That doesn't mean you admitted it. You were probably that kid in class who got called on, didn't know the answer, but so convincingly argued with the teacher you made them question whether _they_ knew the answer." 

Raven smirked. "Have you been spying on me all my life?" 

"I can't get my mother involved," Clarke said. "There's no way she's going to believe this. When I talked about my dreams when I was younger – which turn out to actually be memories, at least sort of – she sent me to a shrink to figure out what was wrong with me." 

"If you want to save your... whatever she is, we're going to have to figure out how to synthesize Nightblood," Raven said. "If we're going to give her a transfusion."

"No," Clarke said. "We need a Nightblood to do that. We took marrow from donors and used it to turn non-Nightbloods _into_ Nightbloods. The donation of the marrow was what caused the problem in the first place, and what fixed it, at least temporarily, was a transfusion from actual born Nightbloods. Which means Luna is our only hope, and we don't even know if she _is_ a Nightblood, because—"

"She is," Lexa said, taking her seat next to Clarke again. Her whole body radiated cold now, as if she'd absorbed the chill from outdoors... and maybe she had. Wasn't that what stone did? Except she wasn't stone right now. She was flesh and blood. 

"And?" Clarke asked. 

"She said she would help," Lexa said. "Whatever I decide." 

"What do you mean, whatever you decide?" Octavia asked. "You don't have a choice, do you?"

"I do," Lexa said. 

"But what you have now... that's not a life. That's not... anything. And what about Clarke? Have you even thought about what it does to her when you disappear?"

"O," Clarke said. "Leave it."

"I'm not going to leave it," Octavia said. "It's not fair. It's not fair that she left you in the first place, and it's not fair that she keeps leaving you. Maybe you don't realize it, but every month it's like there's... less of you. Like some part of you goes away with her, and I don't think it fully comes back when she comes back, because you know she's just going to leave again. You know that whatever this is, it's not going to last. And if she's not going to fix that, then maybe she should just—"

"Stop," Clarke snapped. "It's not up to you, and it has nothing to do with you, so just stop." 

Octavia looked like she was going to say more, but snapped her mouth shut at Lincoln's hand on her arm. She slumped back in her seat, scowling, obviously unhappy she couldn't just bend the whole situation to her will. 

"I think it's time for us to go," Clarke said. "Thanks for... meeting us." 

"It was good to meet you," Lincoln said, offering a hand to Lexa again. This time she took it, but instead of grasping his hand, she clasped his forearm. Thankfully, he just rolled with it, and didn't seem to think it was all that strange, or maybe he was just good at hiding it. 

"We'll see you again," Raven said. "Next month?"

"Yes," Lexa said. "Next month." 

Clarke said her goodbyes to her friends and they headed for the door. Lexa paused for a moment to say goodbye to Luna, who smiled at her and nodded. Back in the car, Clarke turned the key in the ignition but didn't pull out of the parking spot. She just stared out the window, not really seeing anything.

Lexa reached out and put her hand on Clarke's arm. "You know why I can't just say yes," she said. "Don't you? You know why it's not that simple?"

"Yes," Clarke said. "I know. We don't know what it will do. And there's no way to find out, except to try it, and that might make things worse." She swallowed. "But... Octavia's not wrong. I wait all month for you to come back, but then as soon as you do, I'm thinking about you going again. I can't enjoy the time we have because I know it's going to end."

"But that's life, Clarke," Lexa said softly. "We never know how much time we have. We never know what day is our last. We could do this, and think everything is better, everything is perfect, and then a minute later, one of us could be killed. There is nothing certain in life but death."

"But is this really a life? What you have? What we have together? Does this really count as living?" Clarke slammed the car into reverse, backing out of the space and jerking the car into drive so they took off with a lurch. She took the corners too fast, risking hitting a slick spot and skidding out of control each time she jerked the wheel, but if Lexa thought that they could die any moment, why not tempt fate?

They got back to Trigeda House and got out of the car, and for a second Clarke considered just turning around and getting back into the car once Lexa was safely inside, just leaving her there and... what? Moving on? To what? She could go back to Niylah, but that wasn't fair. Niylah deserved better than someone who came to her in grief and anger and spite. 

She followed Lexa inside.

"You're angry," Lexa said. 

"Yes." There was no point in denying it. She was sure that it was written all over her face. 

"You're angry with me."

"Yes," Clarke said. "But not only with you."

"Who else?"

"Not who," Clarke said. "Not only who, I guess. I'm angry with myself. I'm angry with the world. I'm angry with the future that has already happened, and the patterns it seems to have trapped us in."

"Are we trapped?" Lexa asked.

"You turn to stone every month!" Clarke snapped. "If that's not trapped, I don't know what is!"

Lexa sighed. "I can't change that," she said, and held up her hand to stop Clarke from saying anything. "I can't change that _right now_. I can't change it tonight. So what do we do with the time we have left today?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. "I don't know."

* * *

Lexa closed her eyes for too long for it to be just a blink, trying to ease the stinging of the tears that suddenly rose up. She'd tried not to let Octavia's words get to her, but how could she not? When she'd been Commander, she'd had to think about her people – all of them, every living soul in the thirteen clans – and she'd had to weigh her choices and make her decisions based on what did the most good for the largest number of people. 

Here, now, the choices she made she was still making for her people, except now the number was much smaller. Lincoln, Octavia and Raven existed in both worlds, but they didn't remember her. Her existence or lack thereof would have no impact on them, except in the effect it had on Clarke. Luna remembered, but she really couldn't be sure how much it mattered. Clarke, though... 

Clarke was her responsibility. She had sworn fealty to her once, had promised to treat Clarke's needs as her own, and when it had come to her having to make a choice that had the potential for life or death consequences... she'd broken that promise, or close enough to broken it that it would be splitting hairs to try and argue that she hadn't. Clarke had needed her, and she'd left her. 

If she did it again... if she had a chance not to, and she did it again... what would that make her? What kind of person would she be, what kind of friend, what kind of lover? 

But if she took that chance, if she gambled and it turned out she was wrong... what then? What if she turned to stone and didn't come back? Would that be kinder than the status quo? Or would Clarke spend the rest of her life waiting for her, on the chance that maybe, somehow, someday something would change?

"Clarke?"

Clarke looked at her, drawn out of her own reverie. "What?"

"Did you ever... find anyone? After me?"

The fact that Clarke looked away gave her her answer, and she tried not to let it sting. She'd moved on after Costia, after all. It had taken time, but she had, and why shouldn't Clarke have done the same? It wasn't as if she wanted her to be miserable. It wasn't as if she wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone. Of course she didn't want that.

"Were you happy?" she asked.

"No," Clarke said softly. "Not..." She sighed. "I shouldn't say that. There were moments of happiness. I smiled. I laughed. Sometimes I could go for hours without thinking about you, without the place where you'd been and weren't anymore hurting. Sometimes I could go for an entire day, even. But then morning would come, and I would wake up and look for you, or I would be in someone else's arms, and..." She shrugged. "I tried to be happy," she said. "I just wasn't very good at it."

"I'm sorry," Lexa said. "I never meant—"

"I know." 

They just looked at each other for a long time, and then Clarke's gaze flicked to the couch, and without talking about it, then moved toward it, curling up together and holding tight. Lexa pressed her hand over Clarke's heart, feeling the steady, solid beat of it against her palm, and she took comfort in it, in the life that pulsed through her. "I love you," she said. 

"I know," Clarke repeated. 

"Are you willing to take the chance that it won't work?" Lexa asked. 

"It doesn't matter," Clarke said. "It's not my—"

"It's _all_ that matters," Lexa said. "You're the one who has to live with the consequences. Not me."

"I don't know," Clarke admitted. "I don't want to lose you again. I _can't_ lose you again."

"You would find someone else," Lexa said. "If I was gone, you would find someone else again."

Clarke shook her head. "That's the thing, though. I already found her. And we were good together, in a way, but... I didn't—I wasn't in love with her. I held some part of myself back, and I told myself it was because of Finn, but I don't think he was the only reason. I think I knew, somehow, that it wasn't right, that there was someone else in the world for me. And I was right. There was. There is."

Something twisted inside of Lexa, choking off whatever words she might have said, and finally she just tipped up Clarke's face and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. It didn't go beyond kissing... it was a line they weren't ready to cross again, not yet, not with things so uncertain, or at least that's what Lexa assumed... but by the time Clarke finally collapsed against her chest, her face nuzzled into Lexa's neck, Lexa felt warm again for the first time since her last night alive in their other world, their other life. 

"I'll do it," she said. "If it's the only chance we have, I'll do it. I don't want this to be all we ever have." 

"Next month?" Clarke asked.

"If we can arrange it," Lexa said. "Although I guess you'll be the one doing the arranging."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Lexa said, and sealed it with a kiss.


	7. February

_**Waxing Moon** _

"I'm serious, Clarke," Raven said. "We need your mother."

"We're _not_ asking my mother for help," Clarke snapped. "She already thinks I'm wasting my life. She already thinks I threw away what could have been a brilliant career in medicine on something that is 'never going to pay the bills'. She's not going to help."

"We don't know what we're doing!" Raven said. "We don't have the equipment! You want to save your girlfriend, but you're not willing to step out of your fucking comfort zone to do it!"

"You think this is about my fucking _comfort zone_?" Clarke snarled back. "You think that's all it is? She'll have me fucking _committed_! Do you not get that? You all believe me, but she won't. It can't be explained by science, by medicine, so it's not possible. It's all in my head. I'm delusional and I need help."

"I saw her too," Raven said. "So did Octavia, Lincoln. We'll vouch for you."

"You saw a girl," Clarke said. "A girl who could have come from anywhere."

"A girl who would go along with some crazy story about coming from the future and turning into a statue once a month?" Raven raised her eyebrows. 

"She'll just think she's crazy, too," Clarke said. 

"Luna," Raven said. "Luna can tell her."

"She doesn't know Luna," Clarke argued. "She has no reason to believe her."

"Her blood is black," Raven pointed out. "If nothing else..." Her eyes lit up. "That's it. That's our in! You tell her you've got a friend with a rare blood disorder who needs help, get her to come here, draw some blood from Luna... there's no way she won't want to study it!"

"We don't need her to study it," Clarke growled. "We just need a transfusion. That's all. We just need to get some of Luna's blood from her and store it until Lexa wakes up, and get it into her system and see what happens."

"Do you know how to put in an IV?" Raven asked. "Because I don't."

"I do, actually," Clarke said. "My mom taught me a long time ago. It's been a while, but I'm sure I could do it."

"That still doesn't solve the whole getting Luna's blood _out_ problem," Raven said. "Nor does it confirm whether or not they actually have the same blood type, or give us an idea of whether we can put more blood into Lexa's system when she hasn't actually lost any."

"This was _your idea_!" Clarke shouted. "If you didn't think we would be able to pull it off on our own—"

"I didn't realize you would be so stupid and stubborn about it!" Raven shouted back. "I thought you would do anything for her. I thought you lo—"

"Don't. You. Dare," Clarke growled, right in Raven's face. "What the fuck do you know about love anyway?"

It was taking it too far, and Clarke knew it the minute the words were out. But she couldn't take them back. Wouldn't take them back, because fuck Raven. Fuck her. She was asking for the impossible, and Clarke wasn't going to give in and let her get her way, and screw everything up in the process. That wasn't how this was going to work, because it _wouldn't_ work. 

And she was going to lose Lexa all over again.

"I know enough about it to be willing to take a chance on it," Raven said coldly. "You asked for my help, but you obviously don't want it. So you know what? Never mind. I'm done. You're on your own, Clarke. Good luck." 

Clarke looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide whether Raven really meant it. But she'd turned her back, gone to her drawing table and was fastening a sheet of paper in place, anger and hostility rolling off of her in cold waves.

Clarke turned and left. 

She didn't need her anyway. She would do this on her own. She was sure there were plenty of med students she could recruit to help her. And they were all looking at debts up into six digits by the time they finished, so if she offered to pay them, she doubted they would turn her down. She might even be able to offer enough to convince them to stay quiet about it, if she stripped her own budget down to the bare necessities for a couple of months. 

What other choice did she have?

* * *

Raven rubbed the bridge of her nose. She wanted to hate Clarke for what she'd said about her and love, because who the hell did she think she was? But maybe there was a kernel of truth in it. Had what she felt for Finn really been love, or just infatuation and gratitude? He was the only boy she'd ever been with, right up until he cheated on her and then killed himself over it. Over Clarke. Not her. Maybe she'd been in love with him, but it was pretty clear that he'd never been in love with her. 

And that was before. Now...

She sighed. Now she took what she could get when she could get it. Now she was purely pragmatic, treating sex like she would food or sleep. Necessary, but not worth spending a lot of time on. Not worth investing a lot of – or any – emotion in. 

Seriously, to hell with Clarke and her star-crossed lover. It was all bullshit. 

So why was she staring at her phone, reaching for it every few seconds and then pulling her hand back like it might burn her? Why was she even contemplating reaching out to a woman she barely knew, had only met a few times, and then in a professional context, not a personal one. Because she'd never met Abby Griffin as Clarke's mother. But she had met her as Dr. Griffin, the surgeon who thought that if Raven allowed her to open her up, she might be able to help with some of her pain. She couldn't cure her; she'd made that much clear. But she could improve her quality of life.

Raven had declined the offer. The list of potentials complications was too long, the potential benefits too short. Dr. Griffin had tried to convince her, had followed up a few times, but Raven had stopped taking her calls. 

She snatched the phone from its place on the edge of her drafting table and dialed before she could stop herself.

"Dr. Griffin," came the answer after two rings. 

"Hi," Raven said. "It's Raven Reyes."

"Raven!" Dr. Griffin actually sounded glad to hear from her, which was a strange turn of events, not something Raven was at all used to, unless she was speaking to potential employers, and those conversations usually ended in disappointment on their part because she wasn't yet ready to commit to anything. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Raven said. "I'm not actually calling about me."

A pause, then, "What can I help you with?"

"It's a friend of ours – mine and Clarke's. She's got a rare blood disorder and—"

"How is Clarke?" Abby interrupted. 

"She's okay," Raven said, which wasn't exactly true but it wasn't entirely a lie, either. "The semester just started so no one is too stressed yet. She's been working at her internship a lot, but—" Abby sighed, but Raven pushed on anyway. "—she really seems to enjoy it. And it'll be good connections for the future, since I know they're really impressed with the work she's been doing." She knew no such thing, but she figured it might put Abby's mind a little more at ease. She didn't know what it must be like to be a successful woman whose child goes into a field where you didn't think they would ever be able to support themselves. Her situation was pretty much the opposite. 

"I'm sorry," Abby said. "I didn't mean to interrupt. What were you saying about your friend?"

"She has a rare blood disorder," Raven said. "In the past it's been successfully treated, or the symptoms have been mitigated, with a transfusion. Now her symptoms are getting worse again, but she's refusing to seek treatment because she doesn't want to become a lab rat or a guinea pig, which is what she's afraid is going to happen if she goes to a new doctor."

"What's the disorder called?" Abby asked. 

"I don't know," Raven said. _Because I just made it up._ "I'm not sure it has a name, really. It's that rare."

"What is it you're looking to have me do?" Abby asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

"Just... help her with a transfusion," Raven said. "We found someone who can probably be a donor, but we don't have any way to double check, and we don't want to hurt her."

Raven could practically hear Abby shaking her head on the other end of the line. "I can't just—" 

Raven didn't let her finish. "I know we're asking a lot of you, but it's really important to us. To Clarke. This girl... she really cares about her. _Really_ cares about her. If anything were to happen to her because we got this wrong, Clarke would never forgive herself."

Another sigh. "I can see about coming down, but I'm not going to make any promises," Abby said. "For one, this isn't my area of expertise. For another, I'm not convinced this is a good idea. It honestly sounds like you're making this up as you go along."

Raven couldn't help squirming a little. She used to be a better liar, or maybe she just wasn't used to lying to people who were actually perceptive enough to see through it when she lied. "That's all we ask," she said. "How soon can you come?"

"I'll come this weekend," Abby said. "Tell Clarke I said hello."

"I will." _... definitely not do that._

Raven hung up the phone and slumped back in her chair. She had the strong sense that this was all going to blow up in her face somehow, but she'd tried. Which was obviously more than Clarke was willing to do, even though it was her heart on the line. 

The next step would be convincing Luna. She hoped that that, at least, would be easy.

* * *

Clarke balked when she saw Octavia was taking her to the hospital. "What is this?" she asked. "Where are we going?"

"Raven asked us to meet her here," Octavia said. 

"Raven didn't ask me anything," Clarke said.

"That's because you were a complete bitch to her," Octavia said. "She asked me to bring you, okay? Come on. We don't have a lot of time."

"No," Clarke said. "Not until you tell me why we're here. And not just 'because Raven asked us to be'. If you've changed your mind, if you think I've lost it after all—"

"That's not it at all," Octavia snapped. "Okay? We believe you, and we're trying to help you. Raven got access to a lab and found someone who's willing to help us with the transfusion. Okay? Seriously, Clarke, you're freaking yourself out over nothing, and it's kind of annoying."

Clarke wasn't sure whether she could actually trust her, but finally she followed Octavia over the threshold and into the antiseptic-smelling white corridors of the hospital. They had to take an elevator and nearly got lost in a labyrinth of corridors before they found the out-of-the way lab where Raven was stationed like a sentry outside the door, waiting for them. 

"I thought you said I was on my own," Clarke said, which probably wasn't the best way to start if Raven had decided to help after all. 'Thank you,' would probably have been a better approach. 

"I changed my mind," Raven said. "Don't make me regret it." She pushed open the door and Octavia nudged Clarke inside. The door clicked shut behind them, and the woman in the white coat turned around. 

"Mom?" Clarke looked wildly from her mother to Raven and Octavia, then back to her mother. "What are you doing here?"

"Raven asked me to help your friend," Abby said. She looked past Clarke as if she thought she had missed seeing someone else behind her. "Where is she?"

"That's... complicated," Raven said. "She couldn't make it today because she's... stuck at home."

"We can go to her," Abby said. "It would be nice to have access to lab equipment and supplies, but it's not absolutely necessary."

"Can we have a second?" Clarke asked. She didn't wait for an answer, just grabbed Raven by the arm and dragged her into a corner. "What did you tell her?" she hissed. "Not the truth, obviously." 

"You were the one who was convinced she would try to have you committed if you told her the truth," Raven whispered back. "Why wouldn't she do the same to me?" 

"She's not your mother, for one," Clarke said. "So what did you tell her?"

"I told her a friend of ours has a blood disorder that could be treated with transfusions, but she doesn't want to go to a new doctor because she doesn't want to become a lab rat. I told her we have a possible donor, but we wanted to make sure they really were a match."

"And how exactly do you think we're going to do that when we don't have a sample of Lexa's blood, and we have no way of _getting_ a sample of Lexa's blood?"

Raven frowned. "I didn't think about that part," she admitted. "I was flying by the seat of my pants, trying to help you. Maybe that was a mistake. If nothing else, we can at least get her to get some of Luna's blood, right?" 

"Except Luna's not here," Clarke said.

"Lincoln's bringing her," Octavia said. "Calm down, Clarke. Unless you have some better idea you're not sharing with us?"

She didn't. She wished she did, but she didn't. 

"Is everything all right?" Abby asked. 

"It's fine," Clarke said. "She's just... she's not really up for visitors today. I'm sorry Raven made you come all this way."

"It's fine," Abby said. "I'm glad to at least have the chance to see you."

There was a knock at the door, and Raven opened it cautiously, letting first Luna, then Lincoln slip in. Lincoln immediately went to Octavia's side, and Luna, surprisingly, to Raven's. Which left Clarke feeling more alone than ever. 

"This is Luna," Raven said. "Our donor, hopefully."

Abby looked at her and forced a smile. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Luna said, although she didn't sound entirely convinced of that fact, and why would she, considering she was about to be stuck with needles and probably asked a million questions that she didn't have any answers to?

Abby got her settled onto an exam table, setting the needle for the blood draw... and nearly dropped the test tube when it began to fill with a liquid that more closely resembled ink than blood. Luna flashed an understanding smile. "That's what most people do," she said. "I assure you, I'm perfectly healthy. Healthier than most people, even."

"Do you know what causes it?" Abby asked. 

"No," Luna said. "I was born this way. So was my brother." 

"But not your parents?"

"No," Luna said. She fielded Abby's questions with more patience and grace than Clarke would have if she was in her position, but maybe she was used to it. What happened if she got injured around other people? If she cut herself? 

Finally, Abby had all of the vials and slides and everything she could want, and they had one precious bag of Nightblood they could transfuse into Lexa in a few days when she woke up. 

_If she woke up,_ Clarke couldn't help thinking, her stomach doing a sickening lurch. Because the past did not dictate the future (but apparently sometimes the future could help dictate the past) and just because she'd come back from wherever she went, if she went anywhere at all, the last few months didn't mean she would this month. 

"Can I take you somewhere to eat?" Abby asked Clarke. "I'm sure you're hungry, and we can catch up."

Clarke thought about saying no, or trying to drag her friends along so her mother wouldn't get on her case about all of the poor life choices Clarke had made. But Raven was already ushering Luna out, an arm slung gently around the small of her back in case she wobbled, even though they'd given her juice and a protein bar to help her recover from the small loss of blood. Octavia and Lincoln went with them with only the most perfunctory of goodbyes, which left her pretty much trapped.

"Sure," Clarke said. "That would be nice." Since her mother could afford to take her to eat somewhere that wasn't fast food, at least the meal part would be. The catching up probably not so much.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, but Clarke could feel that her mother was holding back, and by the time they were seated, she was almost ready to blow. "How are you?" Abby asked. 

Clarke focused her attention on spreading butter evenly over the slice of bread she'd pulled from the basket on the table, making sure it reached all the way to the edges. She took a bite and chewed slowly, then took a sip of water and wished it was wine, or something else that would take the edge off of this interaction, but her mother hadn't ordered any and Clarke was only willing to push her luck so far. "I'm fine," she said finally. "How are you?"

"Worried about you," Abby said. "You look like you haven't been eating or sleeping."

"I'm busy," Clarke said. "It's the last semester of my senior year. I have projects I need to get done, and I've got my internship up at Trigeda House, which pretty much takes up every free minute I'm not in class or doing homework, so..." She shrugged.

"Have the nightmares come back?" Abby asked. "They were so bad when you were younger..."

"No," Clarke lied. "No, I outgrew those, just like they said I would." She took another bite of her bread, chewing it with more force than was necessary. 

Abby smiled, but her eyes were sad. "You don't need to lie to me," she said. "I know they never really went away."

"How do you know that?" Clarke asked, her eyes narrowing.

"You left out one of your sketchbooks back in high school," she said. "I—"

"You went through my stuff? My personal, private stuff?" Clarke asked, her voice rising loud and sharp enough that people around them turned to look, and she stuffed her anger down, forcing herself to regain control. "Not that I'm surprised. You never respected anything about me."

Abby's mouth pinched. "That's not true, Clarke. You're right, I shouldn't have looked, but I was worried about you. After your father—" She sighed, swallowed. "You were so withdrawn, and so angry. I didn't know what to do with you. I thought maybe..." She stopped. "There's no excuse. But yes, I looked at your personal, private stuff, and I saw the tower, and the fire, just like you drew when you were a little girl. I saw the wreckage, and the statue of the girl."

Clarke blinked. "Wait, what?"

"What?"

"What statue? What girl?"

"There was a girl," Abby said. "Or a statue of one. Sometimes in the tower, sometimes in the rubble, but she was in so many of your drawings, it was almost as if I knew her somehow. Your skill grew, but she was always recognizable as the same girl."

 _Why don't I remember this?_ , Clarke thought. _How did I not notice I was drawing Lexa before I ever had any idea who Lexa was?_

"What's wrong?" Abby asked. "You just got pale."

"I need to show you something," Clarke said. "After we eat. I need to show you something."

Because maybe, just maybe, her mom would believe her after all.

* * *

"How is this possible?" Abby asked, walking in a tight circle around the statue. Around Lexa. "How can you have drawn something so consistently, over so many years, before you even saw it?"

"Because," Clarke said, "it wasn't a dream. Or not entirely a dream. It was a memory."

Abby shook her head. "It can't have been," she said. "We never brought you down here, and anyway, this place is being turned _into_ a museum. It wasn't one before. Unless this piece used to be somewhere else we took you..."

"She's not a piece!" Clarke said. "She's a person! Her name is Lexa, and I loved her, Mom." She swallowed. "I _love_ her."

She could see the disbelief in her mother's eyes, could sense her mind was already going in the direction Clarke knew it would, and she couldn't let it. She would be of no use to Lexa if she ended up in a psych ward, and Clarke didn't know if her friends would... take care of her? in Clarke's stead if that happened. They thought they were helping when they brought her mother here, but things were already going sideways.

"Wait," she said. "Look." She brought up the picture of her and Lexa that she'd taken and shoved her phone at her mother. " _Look._ "

Abby took the phone, holding it almost gingerly, and looked from the screen to the statue and back again several times before handing the phone back to Clarke. "I'll admit that she looks a lot like her," she said. 

"No," Clarke said. "She looks _exactly_ like her, because she _is_ her. She's trapped in there, Mom, and we're trying to get her out, so her life isn't just a few hours on the night of the full moon. So we get the chance we never had before."

"Before?"

"It's a long story," Clarke said, "and you won't believe me anyway, so there's no point in going into it."

"Try me," Abby said. 

"Only if you promise you won't try to commit me," Clarke countered.

"I would never do that," Abby said, but they both knew it wasn't true. If she really thought it was the best thing for Clarke, if she thought Clarke might be a danger to others or herself, she would do it in a heartbeat. And if she really _was_ a danger to others or herself, Clarke wouldn't blame her. 

"Promise," Clarke insisted anyway.

"I promise," Abby said. "Now tell me what's going on. Tell me how a girl is a statue, and how dreams are actually memories."

Clarke frowned, chewing the inside of her cheek, considering whether she could really take her mother at her word. Finally she decided she didn't have a choice. So she told her. Everything, as clearly and concisely as she could manage, most of the time not looking at Abby because she didn't want to have to deal with whatever emotions she was having, which would almost certainly be written all over her face.

When Clarke reached the end, she finally looked at Abby, and discovered she looked slightly shell-shocked and more than a little grim. "You know how difficult this all is to believe," she said. 

"Yes," Clarke said. "But the full moon's in a few days. If you don't believe me, stay and see for yourself. Once you know it's real... you can help us. Help her." 

"I can't stay," Abby said, but before Clarke could say anything, she held up a hand. "But I can come back. I have some things I need to take care of, but I'll make sure to come back before the full moon, and we'll see what I can do."

"Then you _do_ believe me," Clarke said.

Abby frowned. "You are a lot of things, Clarke," she said, "but a liar is not one of them. Whether it's actually true or not, you _believe_ it's true, and the fact that your friend Raven asked me to come here to help you with this means you're not the only one who believes. So I'm willing to take the chance and make the trip to see."

"Thank you." Clarke looked at her mother, and then did something she hadn't done in a very long time. She reached out and hugged her. Just fell into her arms and clung. It took Abby a moment to reciprocate, but when she did she held Clarke just tight enough, and for a moment everything felt like it might really be okay.

* * *

_**Full Moon** _

The first thing Lexa was aware of was too many voices in the house. Voices meant people, and people weren't a good thing. If anyone other than Clarke came up to this room right now, she wasn't sure what she would do. Life seeped back into her slowly, and she felt her heart lurch as it tripped into the right rhythm. She blinked and shifted, gently shaking the stiffness from her limbs, and waited, listening for Clarke's voice in the mix.

The voices, which might have been arguing – it was difficult to pick out – stopped abruptly and she heard footsteps on the stairs, first one set and then several. She backed up, looking for a place to hide, but the door opened too quickly. Her breath caught and she froze, like somehow that would convince someone she was still a statue. 

She let the breath out again when she saw it was Clarke... and Abby, and Raven, and Luna. She looked between them, then back at Clarke. "What's going on?"

"My mother needs a sample of your blood," she said. "She needs to make sure it's a match with Luna's, and that it wasn't some kind of bad interaction between the two that caused this in the first place."

"Wouldn't she have tested for that already?" Lexa asked. "Before?"

"I didn't have a sample of—" Abby started, but Lexa cut her off.

"Not before today. Before. The first time around. Or the other time. You wouldn't have done something if you'd known it would harm me." _If only because harming me would have harmed Clarke._ But the reason didn't matter, only the result. 

"I'm still struggling with the fact that we apparently all lived, or will live, or are living, another life," Abby said. "That somehow all of us have ended up in the same place at the same time more than once, against odds that are... astronomical, if the story Clarke tells me is to be believed."

"Whether you believe it or not doesn't change the fact that it's true," Lexa said. She was getting more than a little frustrated with the fact that they didn't remember the things she did, that they didn't know everything they had once known, or would know. It wasn't their fault, but when she had so little time, having to spend it on getting people up to speed on their own lives got old fast. 

"It never hurts to double check," Clarke said gently. "Maybe she missed something last time. Or... maybe things are different. Luna is different, even if she's still a Nightblood." Her eyes pleaded with Lexa for understanding, and she finally gave in and nodded. 

"Where do you want me to go?" she asked.

"We can go downstairs," Abby said. "The lighting is better, and there's a couch where you can sit."

They went back to the first floor, Lexa last because her feet were still dragging. Clarke was halfway down the stairs before she realized Lexa wasn't at her side, and she looked back, then walked up a few steps to meet her. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I never even said hello."

"Hello, _ai tombom_ ," Lexa said. 

"Hi," Clarke said. She looked like she might say more, or do more, but then she turned and plodded the rest of the way down the stairs at Lexa's side. She sat beside Lexa on the couch, taking her hand and holding it while Abby prepared to draw blood from her other arm... which took more tries than expected, from the look on Abby's face. 

"It's like your skin is dulling the needles," Abby said. "I'm going to have to use something bigger, a bit sturdier. I'm sorry, this may sting a little."

A little didn't really cover it, but Lexa bore it, squeezing Clarke's hand gently to reassure her, or maybe to convince herself she wasn't actually in pain. Finally Abby got the needle in place and taped it down, filling up a vial with her blood, which seemed both watery and sluggish. When it was done, she turned her attention to whatever equipment she'd brought with her – Lexa didn't pretend to understand – and Clarke slid a little closer to her. "It'll be all right," she said. "Once she's sure it's a match, we've already collected blood from Luna for a transfusion."

Lexa nodded, trying to muster enthusiasm she couldn't quite feel. She wanted to be hopeful, but it had been a very, very long time since she'd had anything to hope for, and she was out of practice. She leaned her head to rest her cheek on Clarke's hair, watching Luna and Raven as they talked quietly off to one side, far closer to each other than one might expect from near-strangers. She nudged Clarke, who looked where she was looking, but before it could go beyond that, Abby turned her attention back to them. 

"Everything looks fine," she said. "I feel like I'm flying a bit blind here, trying to recreate what my thought and research processes might have been when dealing with science that hasn't even been invented yet, and that I wasn't familiar with even there. My best hypothesis is that somehow the depletion of your marrow, and subsequent inability to produce enough blood, led to the symptoms that you had, and it reached a catastrophic level. Which doesn't really follow any of the rules of medicine as I know them, but then neither does blood that is perfectly healthy and yet somehow entirely black."

"So we can do it?" Clarke asked. 

"We can do it," Abby said. "If Lexa's ready."

Lexa looked around again, then asked, "Can we have a minute?"

"Of course," Abby said, and she got up to go into the small kitchen, Raven in tow, and Luna started to follow behind her. 

"I actually meant you and me, Luna," Lexa said before she could disappear. "Clarke, is that all right?"

Clarke nodded, and got up to go join her mother, but she glanced back at Lexa every few steps like she was worried she might disappear if she let her out of her sight. A reasonable worry, given everything, but Lexa didn't plan on disappearing. 

Luna sat beside her. "I know what you're going to say," she said. "You don't have to say it."

"What am I going to say?" Lexa asked. 

"You're going to say, 'If this doesn't work, please take care of Clarke for me. Don't let her... lose herself, maybe, or punish herself, blame herself. Make her understand that I would want her to be happy, even if it's not with me. Yes?"

Lexa favored her with a crooked smile. "That sounds about right." 

"You see?" Luna smiled, but it hinted at sadness, and maybe the memory of a similar conversation in another life. "Anything else?"

Lexa shook her head. "No. Just... thank you. Whether it works or not, thank you."

Luna touched her hand, then changed her mind and pulled Lexa into a tight embrace. Lexa pressed her face into Luna's neck, remembering that before they had been anything else, they had been two little girls caught in the jaws of something much bigger than themselves, clinging to each other to try not to get swept up and away. " _Ai hod yu in, Luna kom Floukru,_ " she whispered.

" _Ai hod yu in seintaim, Lexa kom Trikru,_ " Luna whispered back. She pulled back and pressed a kiss to Lexa's forehead, right between her eyebrows where the mark of the Commander had been worn, then let her go. 

"Tell them I'm ready," Lexa said. 

The others came back into the room at Luna's beckoning, and Clarke took her place at Lexa's side, holding the hand that wasn't being hooked up to an IV. Lexa looked at her rather than what was happening, reminding herself why she was doing this, what she had to lose, potentially, but also what she stood to gain. Could they really have a second chance at the life they'd once been denied? Or was this all for nothing, an invitation for heartbreak?

Almost as soon as Abby started the flow of Luna's blood into her veins, Lexa could feel the difference, just like the first (and last) time. Her heart became steadier, pushing blood through her body and animating her limbs. She felt warmth seeping out from her core to her skin, and both sound and sight took on sharper edges. She tangled her fingers with Clarke's and drew her closer, pulling her against her chest and letting her settle there, breathing in the sweet scent of whatever she used to wash her hair. 

"Is it working?" Clarke asked. Lexa nodded, and Clarke's eyes lit up... and then dimmed again. "But it worked last time, too," she said. 

"I know," Lexa said. "We just have to hope this time it's better." She didn't even know what better would mean, other than that when the sun came up again, she would still be a living, breathing, person, and she would never revert back to being a statue. Could one pint of blood do that? 

"How are you going to explain the disappearance of the statue?" Raven asked. "If you stay like this, you're going to have to explain it somehow. Something that big doesn't just go walking off on its own." She smirked. "I mean, except when it does, but I'm pretty sure Clarke's boss isn't going to accept that as a reasonable explanation."

* * *

"Shit," Clarke muttered. "I didn't think about that part." 

"Well you'd better think fast," Raven said. "You might only have a few hours."

"I know," Clarke said. It was the weekend, so that bought her a little more time, but not a lot. "I just..." She pulled Lexa's arm around her, leaning into her shoulder. _I just didn't think beyond giving her the blood, because part of me – maybe most of me – doesn't think it's going to work. That things will stay the same, or get worse. That the destiny that was written more than a century in the future, the destiny where we love each other and lose each other, that that's as written in stone as Lexa's features the majority of the time._

"And where is she going to go?" Raven asked. "Where is she going to stay?"

"With me," Clarke said. That part was easy.

"What's she going to do for a job?" Raven asked. "If she goes to school, how is she going to pay for it?"

"Hell of a time to decide to play devil's advocate," Clarke muttered.

"That's not what I'm doing," Raven said. "I know this is what you want. Both of you. And I hope you get it. But it doesn't just end here. This is the first chapter of the story, not the last." 

"She'll stay with me," Clarke repeated. "The rest... we can figure out. We don't have to have all the answers right away."

Raven started to say something else, but stopped when Luna touched her arm, her fingers curling around Raven's bicep like she thought she might have to physically restrain her. Which wasn't entirely outside of the realm of possibility if things got really heated, but Clarke didn't think it was likely. Finally Raven just shrugged and said, "You're going to at least need to figure out the, 'Hey, where did 'Girl Warrior in Marble' go? bit."

"Any suggestions?" Clarke asked. 

Raven pursed her lips, actually thinking it over. 

"Did you say that the current owner of the house decided to turn it into a museum?" Abby asked. "You could just say that it was a piece that they wanted to keep for themselves and not have on display." 

"That could work," Clarke said. "But they came and got it in the middle of the night? And I was the only one who knew about it? That's definitely not how it would work."

"Do they still have a key to the place?" Luna asked. "The owner?"

"I honestly don't know," Clarke said. "I've never met them."

"Hmm," Luna said. "It's too big to say it got moved to another room, or another floor, and hope no one goes looking for it."

"It's not an 'it'," Lexa said. "I'm sitting right here, in case you've all forgotten."

"No one's forgotten," Clarke said, although she wasn't actually sure that was true. "We just want to make sure we don't end up with big problems on our hands tomorrow if you're not here." 

"You're not supposed to be here at night, are you?" Lexa asked. 

"Maya knows I stay later than everyone else a lot of the time," Clarke said. "Everyone knows, really."

"So if you say the owner came to get the statue," Lexa said, "just say it happened after she left, and you assumed it had been signed off on and let them take it."

"I guess we know who the brains of the operation is," Raven teased. 

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Why are you even still here?" she asked. "I get why Mom is here; she needs to monitor things and make sure Lexa doesn't have any kind of reaction, but you're not obligated to stay." Come to think of it, she hadn't actually invited Raven to come in the first place. They'd thought having Luna here might be a good thing, just in case (of what, Clarke didn't know), and apparently Raven had decided the invitation extended to her as well.

Which reminded Clarke of Lexa's nudge earlier and picked at a thread of memory she hadn't quite managed to untangle yet. Because even though she said she remembered everything, everything was a lot to try and hold in her mind all at once. Especially two lives' worth of everything. So details would strike her at odd moments, just as memories in her regular life did, sparking a light that illuminated some bit of the story she'd previously skimmed over. 

She wondered if Luna remembered. She wondered if Raven ever would. 

"Do you want me to go?" Raven asked.

"No," Clarke said. "It's fine. I just... this isn't how I imagined it."

"How did you imagine it?" Raven asked. "Candles and rose petals and a heart-shaped bathtub?"

Clarke knew she was joking, because that's what Raven did, especially when she was uncomfortable. Snark was Raven's go-to defense mechanism, but that didn't mean Clarke wanted to deal with it right now. She hadn't imagined rose petals or a heart-shaped tub... candles might have been nice... but she didn't imagine being watched by three people, one of which she barely knew in this life, while the girl she loved more than anything, more than her own life, became herself, truly herself, again. 

"Sorry," Raven said, seemingly out of nowhere, but probably Clarke had just missed whatever had prompted it. A look or a touch from Luna, or maybe her mother. "You know what we forgot? Food. I bet Lexa is hungry; I know I am. And maybe some Gatorade. Electrolytes and all that. We could go get something to eat, bring it back."

"That would be great," Abby said, before Clarke could say anything. "Thank you."

When Raven and Luna were gone, Abby picked up a bag. "I have some files I need to go through. I saw a table in the other room that looked like a good place to spread things out. Call me if you need anything." Then she was gone too, and they were alone, at least mostly.

"How do you feel?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa smiled. "Better," she said. "Warmer, and my joints are moving more easily. If I wasn't attached to this pole, I might ask you to dance." 

"Do you know how to dance?" Clarke asked. "That doesn't seem very Commander-like." She smiled back at Lexa, hoping she would understand she wasn't being serious. 

"The Commander is required to have many talents," Lexa replied. "You haven't even scratched the surface." 

Clarke kissed her. Her mother was in the next room, and Raven and Luna could come back at any time, but she didn't care. Careful to avoid the IV, she twined around Lexa and kissed her, her tongue tracing the full curve of her lower lip before it parted from her upper, Lexa's own tongue meeting it in a soft brush that Clarke felt all the way through her body and deep in her core. She moaned and rocked her hips without thinking, grinding against Lexa's thigh before realizing what she was doing and forcing herself to stop.

"If this works..." she whispered, her lips brushing Lexa's jaw, "... there are a few other talents of yours I'd like to be reminded of." 

She felt heat flood Lexa's cheeks, but then her teeth grazed Clarke's earlobe, making her shudder. "As I recall, you weren't exactly without merit yourself." 

The night suddenly seemed to stretch endless in front of them, hours they could be taking advantage of if they weren't _here_. 

"Come home with me," Clarke said. "Once the transfusion is done, come home with me. Even... even if it doesn't work..."

Lexa's eyebrows went up. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I don't... I don't want to do that to you again. I don't want to love you and lose you... have you lose me... again. I don't know if I could forgive myself a second time."

"Third, almost," Clarke whispered. Lexa was right. Clarke knew she was right. If she took Lexa home and then in the morning Lexa turned to stone again... could she really handle that? Wasn't that why she'd told herself she couldn't fall into bed with her again until they knew things were settled, once and for all? Because the potential for heartbreak was too high? 

"Almost," Lexa agreed. She ran her fingers through Clarke's hair. "I want to," she said. "More than anything, I want to. I just don't want to break your heart again."

"It wouldn't," Clarke said. "Maybe it wouldn't. This time at least I would know it's a possibility." 

Was knowing enough? 

On the other hand, if this was going to be their last night together – possibly forever – shouldn't they try to live as much as possible, do as much as they could to show how much the other meant to them, how much they were loved? If she was going to lose Lexa (she _wasn't_ going to lose Lexa, damn it!) wouldn't she want to let her go with no regrets?

Opening herself up physically wasn't going to change the fact that she'd already completely surrendered emotionally. 

"Hey," Lexa said softly, tipping her head to kiss Clarke softly. "Where are you?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. "I don't know how to do this. There's part of me that just wants to pretend this isn't happening, that you're fine and it's just the two of us and today is just another day, the first day of many days together, but then the rest of me knows that might not be true, and I can't figure out which side to listen to, or both, or neither."

"Take me home," Lexa said finally. "I'd like to see where you live, at least. And it's probably more comfortable than here. Certainly more private. From there..." She lifted her shoulder, let it fall. "We'll see where things go. But other than a few drawings, I've never seen your art. I'd like to."

"Okay," Clarke said, nodding. "That sounds good." 

They disentangled themselves when they heard the door opening, and Raven and Luna came back with a big bag filled with cartons of Chinese food. "We didn't know what you would like," Luna said to Lexa. "You've never had anything like it, really." 

"I guess I'll just have to try a little of everything to figure it out," Lexa said, which was exactly what she did. Clarke tried not to laugh when she accidentally bit into one of the tiny red peppers that packed more heat than you would expect, and her face turned bright red and her eyes started to tear. Thankfully, Lexa laughed once the fire in her mouth had been put out. "I don't think that one's my favorite," she joked. 

"Gee, why not?" Raven teased back. 

For a moment, things felt completely normal... or almost completely normal, because normally Clarke wouldn't have her mom around while she was hanging out with friends, but besides that, they were just four young women hanging out together, talking and laughing and eating way too much MSG. Then she caught sight of the IV snaking into Lexa's arm and the sense of normality shattered. 

But it lit a spark of hope in her that maybe things would work out, and this could _become_ part of their new normal. 

When the food was gone, they packed up the containers. Raven pulled out a deck of cards and they tried to teach Lexa how to play Spades, with somewhat limited success. Finally the IV bag ran out, and Abby carefully removed it from Lexa's arm, wrapping a bandage around it and checking her vitals.

"Is it okay for her to leave?" Clarke asked. "She'll be all right?"

"She'll be fine," Abby said. "She should be." She then rattled off a list of symptoms to watch out for that Clarke could barely retain, and told Clarke to call her if she needed anything. She'd gotten a hotel room for the night so she would be nearby, just in case. 

This time Clarke had brought a coat for Lexa, and once they were both bundled up, they locked up the house and went out to the car. 

"Call me if you need anything," Raven said. "It doesn't matter what time it is. If you need me, just call."

"Thanks," Clarke said, hugging her. "Seriously. Thank you for helping to make this happen."

"What are friends for?" Raven asked.

* * *

Luna squeezed Lexa's upper arms, then pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'll make you anything you want, on the house, if you come to the café tomorrow," she said. Which was her way of telling Lexa she hoped she would see her the next day, because it would mean she was still flesh and blood and not stone. 

"I'll take you up on that," Lexa said, with more hope than she actually felt. Because she was trying not to let herself feel too much of that. It was dangerous. Last time, she'd dared to let herself think maybe things would turn out all right because her bones stopped aching for a few hours. This time she knew better. She held Luna for a moment longer, letting Clarke and Raven finish whatever conversation they were having, then let her go, climbing into the passenger's seat of Clarke's car, a little more prepared this time when it roared to life. 

Clarke's apartment was on the third floor, and Lexa was ecstatic when climbing the steps didn't leave her feeling winded. She waited for Clarke to unlock the door, then pushed in past her, looking around even before Clarke flipped the light switch. "I would give you the grand tour, but you can pretty much see everything from where you're standing," Clarke said. "This is the living room, the dining... area which mostly is just a table to dump junk on, and the kitchen. My room is on the left, and my studio is on the right."

"Your studio is where you keep your art?" Lexa asked. 

"When it allows itself to be contained, yes," Clarke said with a smile. "Go ahead."

Lexa pushed open the door and stepped into the small space, which was crowded with a table so covered in supplies and full sketchbooks it left only a small corner to actually work on, two easels, and stacks of canvas leaned against every wall, some blank, but many not. 

"Is there anything I'm not supposed to see?" Lexa asked. 

"You can look at anything you want," Clarke said. 

So she did. She looked at the canvases, considering each one, lingering longer on some because she wasn't sure what Clarke was depicting, and on others because she was trying to imagine what Clarke had been thinking and feeling when she'd done the piece. She picked up one of the sketchbooks and flipped it open... to a picture of herself, naked in a bed covered in furs, her fingers knotted into the hair of a girl – Clarke, she assumed – whose face was buried between her legs. 

"Oh shit," Clarke said, nearly tripping over the drop cloth on the floor in her haste to get to Lexa. "That's—"

"You said I could look at anything I wanted," Lexa said. "I think I would like to look at this, see if all of the pictures are so... intimate."

"Um..." Clarke's cheeks flushed, and she rubbed at the back of her neck. "Mostly, yes. I try to keep drawings like that in one sketchbook, instead of littered like landmines through the ones I carry around with me. Just... can you maybe not? Look?"

Lexa closed the sketchbook immediately and set it back where she'd found it. She didn't pick up another. "It doesn't upset me," she said gently. "If that's what you're worried about."

"It's... it might," Clarke said. Somehow she actually managed to turn a shade pinker. "They're not all you."

 _Oh._ Lexa had known, because Clarke had told her, but there was knowing and there was _knowing_ , and...

"They're older," Clarke said. "Since you... since I saw the statue, you're pretty much the only thing I draw anymore. The others in there... it's over with them."

Lexa nodded. She trusted Clarke. She had to. Without that, what did they have?

"Did you want to see my room?" 

"Yes," Lexa said. She followed Clarke through the door to Clarke's bedroom and tried to take it in. There were school books piled on a small desk, laundry overflowing the basket in the corner, the bed hastily made so the covers were pulled up and smoothed over but the corners of the sheets poked out at the bottom, showing Clarke hadn't bothered to tuck anything in. There was more art on the walls, and pictures of Clarke and her friends in frames sitting on top of her dresser along with various cosmetics and other detritus of everyday life. 

They'd never had an everyday life. They'd never had the chance, and even if they'd managed to make it through the return of _Praimfaya_ , their lives still would never have been ordinary. But that didn't stop Lexa from thinking about what it would have been like to share a bed with Clarke every night and wake up beside her every morning, to have their clothes hung up together with little regard to what belonged to who. To have little rituals and routines together that came to be such a habit they scarcely noticed they were doing them. 

She reached for Clarke's hand, and Clarke folded her fingers around Lexa's. "I love you," Clarke said softly, turning to face her, her arms wrapping around Lexa's waist and pulling their bodies flush against each other. Lexa felt heat – actual, real heat – suffuse her body, her nerves standing at attention, waiting to see what was going to happen.

"I love you too," Lexa murmured, and when Clarke tipped her face up for a kiss she met her lips and parted them with her own, cradling the back of Clarke's head in her hand as the kiss deepened and heated. She felt Clarke's fingers creep under the hem of her shirt, tracing the waistband of her pants from the back around to her hips, and then in between their bodies, popping the button and sliding down the zipper.

* * *

"Clarke," Lexa whispered, almost a moan, her lips brushing Clarke's cheek, and then definitely a moan as Clarke worked her hand down, one finger sliding into her slick folds and circling her clit. Lexa's hips bucked and her fingers tightened in Clarke's hair. "Clarke!"

"Do you want me to stop?" Clarke asked, keeping her hand still, because even if Lexa's body was screaming _yes_ , she still owed her the opportunity to say no, and to have that respected. But the more she thought about it... or didn't think about it... the closer they were, the more she realized that if this was their last night, she would regret it if they didn't savor every moment of it, and of each other. 

She felt Lexa's panting breaths against her cheek and then felt her shake her head. "No," she whispered. "No, I don't want you to stop. Please don't stop."

Clarke wrapped her arm around Lexa's back, the other hand cupping the wet heat of her as the tip of her finger traced over, and then slipped inside her, deeper and deeper until she was grinding against the heel of Clarke's hand as she gently thrust into her. "Maybe," Clarke suggested, "we should take this to the bed."

Lexa let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and Clarke guided her over to the bed without taking her hand away, although the movement dislodged her enough that she couldn't do more than tease her, tracing circles around her clit that had Lexa biting her lip. "Tell me what you want," she whispered. "Tell me what you need."

"You," Lexa answered. "I want you. I need _you_." 

The words stopped Clarke cold for a second, remembering the first time she'd thought she was going to lose Lexa... or second, she guessed, but the first time that really counted, the first time she thought she was really going to lose her and not get her back. _I don't want the next Commander. I want **you**._

"I know," Clarke said. "I know, love, but tell me how. Tell me what will feel the best to you."

"Anything," Lexa said. "Everything." 

Clarke smiled, shook her head slightly. "Okay," she said. She pulled Lexa to her and kissed her until they were both breathless, and then began peeling away the layers of clothing Lexa wore, stroking and kissing each bit of skin as it was exposed, listening to the changes in Lexa's breathing as she found the places that were the most sensitive, the places where a single kiss or lick or nip could make her tremble. As she peeled Lexa's pants down her hips, Clarke went to her knees in front of her, and she could feel the heat coming from her core and smell the musk of her arousal. She nuzzled her through the thin fabric of her underwear, kissing her _there_ , and Lexa nearly toppled back onto the bed, but managed to catch her balance at the last second.

"It's all right," Clarke said as she peeled away that last little bit of clothing, leaving Lexa bared to the world, except the world was only the two of them, and Clarke climbed on top of her, pressing her back into the nest of pillows and blankets that she never really made any attempt to impose any order on. "It's all right," she repeated. "I have you. You're safe."

Lexa's lips quirked. "I was never and always safe with you," she said. 

Clarke knew exactly what she meant, and she was right. They were each other's greatest strength and greatest weakness all at once. They always had been, and they probably always would be, if there was an always longer than the next few hours. 

"I love you," Clarke said, kissing her forehead. "I love you," she repeated as she kissed her nose, and "I love you" and "I love you" and "I love you" for her cheeks and lips and down her neck, etching the words into her skin with the tip of her tongue, breathing them into every curve and angle of her, from the crooks of her elbows to the undersides of her breasts to the dip of her navel, the arches of her feet and the backs of her knees and the slope of her shoulder, the ridge of her clavicle and the arch of her hipbone and the sweet molten softness between her legs. 

Clarke parted her with a swipe of her tongue, tracing all the way up to the throbbing nub of her clit, swirling around it before pressing her lips over it and sucking, just a little, just enough to make Lexa's back arch off the bed. She put her hands on Lexa's hips to steady her and began to work her with her mouth, long strokes followed by quick flicks with the tip of her tongue until she heard Lexa's breathing change from quick pants to deep moans, and then she focused on keeping those sounds coming... until it was Lexa coming, hard, her entire body tensing and then collapsing back like the string that held her upright (even though she was laying down) had snapped, leaving her loose and wobbly.

Clarke slid up her body, laying half on top of her as she gathered her into her arms and kissed away the tears that had leaked from the corners of her eyes. " _Ai sadrona,_ Clarke murmured, which only made the tears flow faster, and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but she didn't want to make it worse by asking when Lexa was in such a heightened state, so she just held her and waited for her to settle.

* * *

_Ai sadrona._

Of all the endearments she could have used, Clarke had to pick that one. The one that conjured images, at least for Lexa, of a life spent side-by-side, always there for each other, to lend support in whatever way was needed. 

The promise she wanted to make but couldn't, because she didn't control whether or not she could actually keep it. It was a terrible feeling, and she wondered if this might have been a mistake. But that was mostly for Clarke to decide, wasn't it? Lexa wasn't the one who would be left behind. If this didn't work out, she wouldn't be the one who would be left wondering whether this time it might be for good. 

She wouldn't have to wonder, because she wouldn't even be anymore. She would be a statue, and Lexa the girl would just be a memory. 

Clarke pulled her closer, rubbing her back in slow strokes, soothing her even if she probably didn't know why Lexa was upset. Or maybe she did. There was no way to really know, was there, except to ask, and did Lexa really want to ruin what time they had by reminding Clarke of all of the time they might not have? 

She finally got her breathing and her tears under control, and opened her eyes, forcing a smile so that Clarke wouldn't worry. "Why are you still wearing so many clothes?" she asked. 

"Because you haven't taken them off of me," Clarke replied. "Did you want to fix that?"

Lexa raised an eyebrow. "Did you want me to?" 

Clarke smirked. "Did you want me to want you to?"

Lexa couldn't help it. She laughed. "Come here," she said, pulling Clarke to her and kissing her, nipping at her lower lip to 'punish' her for her sass, and then twisted quickly onto her back, pulling Clarke on top of her. She sat them both up, tugging Clarke's shirt up over her head and reaching around to unhook her bra. She let the straps slide off her shoulders and the cups fall away slowly as she kissed her neck and collarbone. Clarke leaned back a little as if offering her breasts to her, and Lexa accepted the invitation, rubbing her thumbs over her nipples until they rose in stiff peaks, and then kissing first one, then the other, and back again, cupping the weight of Clarke's breasts in her hands as she lavished attention on them. 

"Lexa, god..." Clarke groaned. She was rocking in Lexa's lap but with the way they were positioned there was no way for her to get the friction she so obviously wanted. Lexa slid her hands to her back, tracing her fingers up and down her spine before hooking her fingers into the waistband of her jeans, sliding them around to the front just as Clarke had done and making short work of the button and zipper, but the angle wasn't right for her to do much more than that, so she pulled Clarke to her and flipped them again so that she had Clarke pinned to the mattress by the weight of her body. She worked her jeans off slowly, enjoying watching Clarke squirm as she denied her what she so desperately wanted for just a few... minutes... longer...

Lexa could see that Clarke's panties had soaked through with her desire, and it seemed cruel to keep her in suspense any longer. A few quick kisses to the insides of her thighs, and then she buried her tongue in Clarke's core, letting the heady tang of her fill her senses. She remembered – she'd never really forgotten – this, the catch in Clarke's breath and the moan that followed, the rhythmic roll of her hips as Lexa licked and sucked her, the fine trembling that began in her thighs as soon as Lexa slipped her fingers inside of her, crooking them slightly to find the spot that made her thrash her head on the pillow as her pleasure peaked and crashed through her. 

It was so easy. It had always been so easy. She slid up Clarke's body, tasting herself on Clarke's tongue just as she knew her lips tasted of Clarke, letting her fall into the trance of the kiss, the rise and fall of it, the give and take, and then as her tongue slipped past Clarke's lips, her fingers slid back into her, finding a rhythm that was neither too slow nor too fast, a pressure that was not too hard or too soft, but exactly what it took to tip Clarke slowly, gently, over the edge again almost before she realized what was happening. 

They curled together in a sweaty, sated tangle, Clarke finding blankets to pull around them to keep off the chill. Lexa pressed her face into the curve of Clarke's neck, the soft brush of her hair on her skin not quite tickling. 

It had been a long time since she'd really slept, but she could feel the darkness tugging her down now, and she was warm and safe and everything was exactly the way it should be, so she didn't try very hard to resist.

The last thing she felt was Clarke's lips against her heart. 

"Stay," she whispered. "I need you to stay."

* * *

Clarke woke up to the sun streaming in through the windows, her face pressed into the back of someone's shoulder, her arm over her waist and theirfingers tangled. But she was in her own bed, and she _never_ brought anyone home into her bed. Disoriented, she tried to sit up, only to find herself tugged insistently back down. 

"Not yet," Lexa mumbled. 

_Lexa._

"Lexa!" 

The other girl's eyes cracked open and she smiled. "Good morning, Clarke," she murmured, pulling her down to kiss her. 

"Lexa... you're... the sun's up, and you're still here!"

Lexa blinked, and looked around, and it seemed to finally click that they were not in the past – future – their other life, whenever and wherever it was – but in the here and now, and that by all of the rules that had applied up to this point, she should be stone right now. 

She wasn't. She was still here, warm and... well, not that warm, and Clarke pressed tighter against her, trying to force heat into her. But she was breathing, her heart was beating, and that meant... She couldn't be sure what that meant, exactly, except that _something_ had changed for the better. 

"You're still here," Clarke said again. "You're still here."

"Yes," Lexa said. "I'm still here." She rolled onto her side, facing Clarke, and then rolled again so she was half on top of her, and there were no more words for a while, and Clarke kissed her flushed cheeks after and she couldn't stop smiling... 

It was past eleven before they finally got out of bed and stumbled into the shower, and nearly noon before they were dressed, having gotten... distracted under the flow of hot water. (And it was a miracle neither of them had slipped; Clarke's knees were still wobbly.) 

"Luna asked me to come to the café," Lexa said, "if I was still around in the morning." 

"Well, it's not morning anymore, but we can go see her," Clarke said. 

Lexa nodded and they bundled up. It was close enough to walk, so they did, hand-in-hand and not caring what anyone had to say about it. Not that anyone had anything to say about it. One of the nice things about this town was that people tended to be fairly live-and-let-live about a lot of things. Clarke pushed open the door and they stepped inside. 

Luna looked up from the coffee she was making, and Clarke didn't think she'd ever seen her smile so brightly. "I'll be right with you," she said. She finished up and handed the cup to the customer, who brushed past them to get to the door, and then came around the counter and pulled Lexa into a hug that looked like it might have been squeezing the air from Lexa's lungs, but she didn't seem to mind. Clarke couldn't hear what Luna was saying, or Lexa's response, but she assumed it was probably along the lines of, 'I'm so glad you're here.' 

Which reminded her, she should probably tell her mother what was going on. She sent her a quick text.

 **Clarke:** She's still here.

 **Mom:** That's great! I'd like to see her, check her vitals, see how everything is.

 **Clarke:** Yeah, okay. We can come to your hotel in a little bit. We're just getting some food.

 **Mom:** All right. I'll see you soon.

They did get food, which Luna refused to charge them for, and found a table in the corner to set themselves up at, both of them on the same side of the table. Clarke was once again grateful for the fact that she was left-handed and Lexa right, because it meant they could hold hands without either of them losing their dominant hand.

When they were done, they went back to the house to get Clarke's car and drove to the hotel where her mother was staying. 

"It's nice to see you again," Abby told Lexa. 

"It's nice to see you too," Lexa said. 

"I'd like to check your vitals," Abby said. "Just to make sure that everything seems okay." Lexa nodded, and Clarke watched her mother as she listened to Lexa's heart and lungs, looked in her eyes and down her throat, checked her blood pressure and temperature. She watched her, so she saw the way that tiny lines formed between her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth turned down. 

"What is it?" Clarke asked when she was done. "What's wrong?"

"Your temperature is low," Abby said, looking at Lexa, "and your heartrate and blood pressure are lower than they should be, too. Lower than they were last night. It's progress, but I'm concerned that—"

"That it won't last," Lexa finished for her. 

"Yes. I would like to give you another transfusion, but unfortunately we don't have any more blood to give you right now, and I don't want to take a chance on taking more from Luna so soon."

"I understand," Lexa said. "I don't want anything to happen to her either."

"Can you give her saline?" Clarke asked. "Just to increase her blood volume? Would that help?"

"We can try it," Abby said, "but I would have to get some first, and that may not be as easy as we'd like. I don't have any connection to any doctors down here." 

"Then... what? What happens now?" Clarke demanded. 

"Unfortunately, we can't do a lot other than wait and see and monitor Lexa's condition. The fact that she's still here is a good sign, but without another source of blood, what we're able to do is fairly limited. We can only take one unit from Luna a month, which means we can only give her one unit. It might be enough, but we need to be prepared for the fact that it might not be."

"You think maybe we'll be able to buy her a day or two, and then every month we'll have to start over?" Clarke asked. 

"I'm not sure," Abby said. "I don't think we'll be starting over every month, exactly, because it seems as if her systems would go into a kind of stasis while she's a statue. It means she's not recovering during that time, but she's also not deteriorating. Or possibly she _is_ recovering, albeit very slowly." She turned to Lexa. "Do you remember if you started waking up every month right away, or did it take some time?"

"I'm not sure," Lexa said. "I don't have any sense of time, or anything else, when I'm not... awake. I know that when I first woke up, I wasn't in the same place I had been when I'd last been awake and aware. There was basically nothing about the world I was in that was familiar."

"How long has this been happening?" Abby asked. "Do you know?"

"I've woken up 264 times," Lexa said. 

"Once a month... or once every 28 days, roughly, means that you've been waking up for the last... 22 years, give or take."

It took a second for Clarke to do the math, but when she did, her heart lurched. "Since I was born," she said. "She's been waking up every full moon since I was born." 

"Oh," Abby said, and Lexa reached out and took her hand and squeezed it. 

"I think we need to go," Clarke said. 

Abby nodded, and handed her the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. "Check her vitals periodically and let me know," she said. "Do you remember how?"

"I remember," Clarke said. She took the bundle her mother handed her and tucked it into her bag, and took Lexa back home, tumbling back into bed with her, fierce and desperate as she yanked off her clothes and lost herself in her again and again.

* * *

Lexa twisted her neck to press a kiss to Clarke's forehead, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. "It's like the world knew you had arrived, and woke me up because we were in it together again," she said. "I've been waiting for you for so long."

Clarke stirred, her eyes cracking open. "I've been waiting for you, too," she mumbled against Lexa's skin. "I didn't know it, but I was. Nothing else... no one else... felt quite right. I wasn't ready or willing to give them all of me, because part of me was always yours. Has always been yours. Will always be yours."

Lexa lifted Clarke's hand from where it rested on her chest and pressed a kiss to her palm, and then the inside of her wrist where her pulse beat. "And I will always be yours," she said. "No matter what happens." She felt tears well up in her eyes and she tried to blink them back, but one broke free and slid down her temple and soaked into her hair. 

"You're not going to be here much longer, are you?" Clarke asked. 

"No," Lexa said softly. "No, not much longer." 

"You can feel it?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything we can do to stop it?"

"I don't think so," Lexa said. "We got an extra day, though. That's something."

"It's something," Clarke agreed. "And we still have tonight, right? We should have until dawn tomorrow?"

"I think so," Lexa said. 

"Okay." Clarke nuzzled into her shoulder. "We should probably eat. Maybe shower again. And then... I'd like to draw you. If you'd let me."

"Anything you want," Lexa said, and meant it. 

They didn't sleep much that night. They didn't want to waste the time that they had left. They ate, and showered, and Clarke drew her over and over again, and then drew _on_ her (painted, really), which made Lexa laugh and cry at the same time, and she hoped Clarke would show her the pictures she took of the work of art she'd turned her into when she woke up again. They probably ruined Clarke's sheets, falling into them with paint still on her skin, but Clarke didn't seem to care. One last shower and they decided to take her back to Trigeda House to buy them another month without questions about where the statue had gone. 

"I love you," she told Clarke as she shrugged into her coat and fastened her pauldron back in place. "I'll always be with you."

* * *

_**Waning Moon** _

Clarke watched her go. She watched as the life and light drained from Lexa's eyes, as her skin shifted from pink to pale to gray, as her limbs froze into place. She watched, and her vision blurred, and she allowed herself a few minutes to fall apart before pressing her lips to her fingertips and brushing them over Lexa's mouth before turning to go.

She left, sending a text to Maya to tell her she wouldn't be in that day, and then sent a text to her mother and Raven and Luna (whose number she'd gotten from Raven), telling them all that Lexa was gone again. All three of them texted back almost immediately.

 **Mom:** I'm sorry, sweetie. Let me know if there's anything I can do.

 **Raven:** That sucks. But it's progress, right?

 **Luna:** She'll be back. She loves you too much to stay away.

Clarke went home and curled up in the rumpled paint-stained sheets, breathing in the scent of Lexa and sex, burrowing her face into the pillow that still bore the impression of Lexa's head, and screamed until her throat was raw, agonizing sobs that wracked her entire body and left her exhausted. She fell asleep and woke up hours later to her phone buzzing insistently in her pocket. 

She pulled it out and checked the screen. Luna.

She swiped to answer the call, her voice a rasping croak. "Hello?"

"You need to come here," Luna said. "Now."

"Where?" Clarke asked. "Why?"

"The café. Just come."

"Luna—"

" _Please._ "

Her head ached and her throat felt like she'd swallowed sandpaper. She was sure she looked terrible... worse than terrible... and also sure Luna wouldn't care, and Lexa would want her to go see what was happening, what was wrong. So she went. 

The cold air felt good on her flushed, swollen face, and by the time she got to the café she didn't feel quite so much like reanimated roadkill. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Luna got up from a table in the corner where she'd been sitting and took Clarke's elbow, drawing her down into a seat and pointing at another table. "Look."

Clarke looked... and her heart skipped a beat. _Ontari._

"She came in an hour ago," Luna said. 

"You think...?"

"There's a chance, isn't there?" Luna asked. "If she is, it could help, couldn't it?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. "Maybe. My mom said that if we could give her more blood, it might help." She frowned, studying the girl, who had headphones in and seemed to be staring off into space, even though there was a laptop set up on the table in front of her. "But we don't know her. How could we ask something like that?"

"You didn't know me, either," Luna pointed out. 

"But you remembered," Clarke said. "You remembered Lexa."

"Who's to say she doesn't?" Luna asked. 

"Because no one else does," Clarke said. "Raven, Octavia, Lincoln, my mom... no one else seems to remember her at all."

Luna pursed her lips. "I wonder what the difference is?"

"I don't know," Clarke said. "I think maybe how well you knew her? You grew up with her, and I... well..." She shrugged. "But she wasn't close to Ontari."

"But Ontari is a Nightblood," Luna said. "It might make a difference."

"It might," Clarke said, but she didn't really believe it. She didn't dare let herself believe it. "How do we even go about asking _that_?" 

Neither of them had any answers, so they just stayed where they were, watching Ontari as she worked. A flash of panic went through Clarke when she saw her get up, because what if she left? What if she disappeared and never came back? She wasn't a regular; if she was Luna would have seen her before. Maybe she was just passing through, and this was the only chance they would get. 

Clarke could see the same fear in Luna's eyes, but they still didn't have an in. They had no way to approach her that wouldn't be weird, and potentially send her running for the hills. They watched as she packed up her laptop and tucked away her headphones, and slid her arms into her coat, fastening the buttons and smoothing it down before putting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She said something that Clarke couldn't hear and only then did she notice the dog that had been resting under the table at her feet the entire time.

A guide dog. A German Shepherd that looked up at its master – mistress – with warm brown eyes, ready to do whatever it was asked. 

"Echo," Ontari said, "find the door."

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," Clarke said, swallowing a laugh at the ridiculous perfection of the moment. Not that the once upon a time Echo would appreciate the humor of it, she suspected, but really, it fit, didn't it? Above all else, Echo had been loyal. 

And then she saw her chance. She edged out of her seat and back to the table Ontari had recently vacated, picking up the length of brilliant red fabric from the floor and moving quickly to catch her. 

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but—"

Ontari stopped, turned, and Clarke could practically see her weighing how she was going to respond. She probably got this all the time, and Clarke was just another in a long line of irritations she had to decide how diplomatic she was going to be when she dealt with them.

"You dropped your scarf," Clarke said, offering it to her, then realized Ontari couldn't actually see that she was holding it out. 

"Oh," Ontari said, her expression clearing a little when she realized she wasn't about to have to do battle, or whatever it was she thought was going to happen. "Thank you." She held out her hand, and Clarke put the scarf into it. Then she looked down at the dog at her side. "You couldn't have noticed that?" she asked, obviously joking. The dog ran its tongue out almost like it was laughing. "Not much of a retriever, this one," she said. 

Clarke smiled. "I guess she's decided she's got more important things to do."

Ontari smiled back. "I guess so." She dropped the handle of the harness to scratch between the dog's ears. "She keeps me safe and gets me where I need to go, though, so I guess I'll keep her."

"How long have you had her?" Clarke asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

"A little over a year," Ontari said. "My parents were nervous about the idea of me going off to college on my own, but there was no way I was going to stick around at home forever. Our compromise was that I get a dog, which means I don't have to rely so much on people – strangers – to get me where I need to be, and also she looks imposing so people aren't likely to mess with me. I'm pretty sure if it came down to it, she would lay down her life for me, so... I guess my parents got what they wanted." 

_That sounds about right,_ Clarke thought. "What's her name?"

"Echo," Ontari said. "I'm Ontari."

"Clarke." Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she saw Ontari's eyes widen, just a little. "This is my friend Luna," she added, and yes, that was _definitely_ a reaction. 

"Hello," Luna said. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Ontari said. "I should probably get going, though. I have a... a campus tour. I don't want to be late."

 _Shit._ Clarke needed to stop her before she bolted and disappeared. "Do you know where you're going?" Clarke asked. "I'm a student here, so I know the campus pretty well. I can at least make sure you get to where the tour starts."

"I—" Ontari wavered, fierce independence at war with the knowledge that she _couldn't_ do everything by herself. It was a fight Clarke had seen a hundred times before. "All right."

"I'm going to head home," Luna said to Clarke. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yes," Clarke said. She hugged Luna and kissed her cheek, whispering, "I'll make her understand."

"I know you will," Luna whispered back. "Enjoy your tour," she said to Ontari. 

"Thanks." Ontari had Echo lead her to the door, but once they were outside she stopped. 

"I don't know how this works," Clarke said. 

"Give me your elbow," Ontari said. "And try to warn me if there are steps up or down, or anything in the path that might trip me." She let Echo's harness fall, holding her just by her leash, and they started out. At first Clarke was afraid she was walking too fast, but Ontari kept up just fine, and the sidewalks were fairly smooth and clear, so it was easy going. 

"Can I ask you something?" Clarke asked. "Something personal?"

"Yes," Ontari said, "but I don't promise I'll answer."

"That's fair," Clarke said. "Have you always been blind?"

Ontari sighed. "No. I lost my vision when I was a teenager. It's only been a few years." She smiled, and it struck Clarke just how pretty she was. She had always been pretty, but without the scars marking her face, some of the edge was taken off, and she looked like an ordinary girl... but Clarke very much doubted she was truly ordinary. "At first I thought it was the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. I was angry all the time, at everything. But you learn to cope, because it's not like there was anything I could do about it. The doctors were very clear that there was nothing that could be done to reverse it. So I figured things out. Then I got Echo and it felt like the world opened back up again. It still sucks sometimes, but mostly I've accepted it."

"That's good," Clarke said. 

"The worst part, though," Ontari said, "was the dreams. It was like when I stopped seeing things outside of myself, it made everything I saw in my own head more vivid, more..." She shrugged. 

"What do you dream of?" Clarke asked. 

"Ice," Ontari said softly, "and death, and the end of the world."

* * *

Ontari had been surprised by Clarke's invitation to meet up later, and even more surprised when she'd accepted it. Maybe it was the fact that Echo didn't react to Clarke... which of course was partially training; she wasn't supposed to react to strangers approaching Ontari, but Ontari could feel her guide's reactions, and some people set her on edge. She could feel the subtle shift as Echo angled herself slightly in front of Ontari as if to act as a physical shield, to protect her from whatever threat it was she perceived in the person. 

Not with Clarke. Clarke she seemed to accept as if she wasn't a stranger at all, but someone Ontari knew, like a friend or family member. Echo wasn't gregarious in her affection to anyone, even Ontari, but when she was around people she knew and trusted, that Ontari knew and trusted, she would relax more. 

Clarke picked her up outside the hotel where she was staying (on her own for the first time even though technically she was too young to stay in a hotel by herself) and she got into the car, letting Echo into the back seat while she took the front. It was no more dangerous than taking a Lyft, she figured. "Where are we going?"

"There's something I want to show you," Clarke said. 

Ontari raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if Clarke would react like so many people sighted people did to saying she wanted to show something to a blind girl. She didn't. She just told her a little about Trigeda House and the restoration they'd been working on. 

The drive wasn't a long one, and of course Ontari couldn't see the scenery around them, but as the roads got more twisty she got the sense that they'd driven out of town. Finally Clarke parked and came around to the side to open Ontari's door. Ontari let Echo out and grabbed her leash, then took Clarke's elbow and followed her up a gravel driveway and several steps, onto a porch that seemed to have more give than it should.

The door of the house (or wherever they were) didn't creak when it opened, though, so either the place was in better repair than the porch led her to believe, or they had taken the time to oil the hinges. "It's a bit of a maze in here," Clarke said. "I'll do my best to make sure you don't bump into anything, but I have a hard enough time doing that myself and I can see where I'm going."

Ontari couldn't help smiling. "I'll forgive you if I end up with a bruised shin," she said. "Just don't let me fall down any stairs."

"We're going up, not down," Clarke said.

"Yes, but we'll have to come down eventually," Ontari said. She stuck close at Clarke's side, letting her nudge her one direction or another, and she did bump her toes a few times, but they reached the bottom of the stairs essentially unscathed. 

She held on to the rail as she ascended, and managed to avoid the embarrassing lurch of thinking there was just one more stair. Clarke led her down a hallway and into a room. She heard the click of the light switch as it was flipped on, but it didn't change anything in her world. 

"There's a statue," Clarke said. "That's what I wanted to show you. You can touch it." 

Ontari held up her hand, and Clarke guided it to the surface of the stone. She'd been to a museum once where they'd allowed sight-impaired visitors to touch some of the artifacts, but mostly she'd been stuck listening to narration about the various things she wasn't seeing. Museums had never really been her thing anyway, but now she visited them only under duress. What was the point? 

But this... this was different somehow. The feeling she got as she traced her hands over the stone was like... touching the past somehow. Like the shape of it would be familiar if she could see it, but she couldn't quite form a picture in her head. She finally reached the face, tracing the line of the jaw and cheekbones, the curve of the lips... 

"Her name is Lexa," Clarke said, closer than Ontari expected her to be, like she'd been drawn in by Ontari's communion with this piece of art. 

Ontari pulled back slightly, her hands dropping away from the face, then coming back up to feel the lines of hair, the strands that wove into braids. She followed them down to the shoulder, and the structure there that felt like the tread of a tire, and something flashed in her mind, like a memory she'd forgotten and was now rediscovering, and it settled into a face, an imposing figure even though she wasn't so much bigger than Ontari herself. 

" _Heda_ ," she whispered. 

"Yes," Clarke said. "The Commander. Your Commander."

Ontari shook her head slightly, trying to clear away the image, but it persisted, the details filling in around it, and she shivered and took a step back, bumping into Clarke in the process. Hands on her back kept her steady, led her away and guided her to a place where she could sit.

Echo whined, pressing up against Ontari's knees, her head in her lap. Ontari stroked the soft fur of her ears, then leaned down to press her forehead to Echo's, wrapping her arms around her and holding tight. The dog didn't squirm or try to escape, she just licked Ontari's ear and settled her chin on her shoulder. 

"How long are you staying?" Clarke asked. 

"Until tomorrow evening," Ontari said. "I'm going to a few classes tomorrow. I'm thinking of coming here next year."

"I figured," Clarke said. "Can I... maybe we can grab lunch?"

"Maybe," Ontari said, not quite willing to commit to anything. "I don't know what my schedule is like."

"I'll give you my phone number," Clarke said. "You can text me."

"Okay," Ontari said. She took out her phone and handed it to Clarke to put in her number. Clarke handed it back and Ontari sent her a message. "Now you have mine," she said, wondering if she would regret it. There was _something_ going on here, something bigger than her, something Clarke wanted from her, but she didn't seem to be willing to just come out and ask for it. "I think I'd like to go back now."

"Of course," Clarke said. She guided Ontari safely back down the stairs and to her car, and dropped her off at the hotel. "I hope I'll see you tomorrow," she said. 

Ontari just waved and let Echo take her in. She broke her own rule of no dogs in the bed in favor of the security of the solid weight of Echo beside her, keeping her safe.

* * *

**Clarke:** I took her to see the statue. I think it freaked her out. I don't think she remembers much, but she said she dreams of ice and death, that she has since she lost her sight a few years ago, and when I told her the statue's name was Lexa, she remembered Heda. I didn't get any farther than that because she was starting to panic, but I'm going to try to see her tomorrow.

 **Luna:** I hope it works out. 

**Clarke:** Me too.

She set her phone down on her nightstand and curled back up in the nest of sheets and blankets, but she'd slept most of the day and now she wasn't tired. Or she was, but she couldn't sleep, which amounted to the same thing. She got up and went to her studio, and didn't emerge again until the jangling of her phone finally broke through and she went to check it.

 **Ontari:** Can you come back?

 **Ontari:** Please?

 **Ontari:** I know it's the middle of the night and you don't know me and I don't know you 

**Ontari:** But I don't have anyone else

 **Ontari:** Here

 **Ontari:** And I don't want to be alone.

The last message was from only a minute before, the first about an hour old. 

**Clarke:** I'll be right there. 

She got in her car and got to the hotel in record time, finding a place to park. She checked her phone and saw Ontari had texted her room number, so she went straight through the lobby to the elevator and rode it up, knocking on the door.

It cracked open a few seconds later. "Clarke?"

"Yes." 

"Hold on." The door closed and Clarke heard the clatter of the bolt being pulled back so the door could be opened fully. She stepped inside when Ontari motioned, but she couldn't see anything because the lights were all off. 

Which made sense, obviously, since they didn't do Ontari any good. 

"Do you mind if I turn the light on?" Clarke asked.

"Oh! Sorry." Ontari fumbled for the light switch, but she clearly had no idea where it was on the wall. 

"I've got it," Clarke said. 

"I forget," Ontari said, "and Echo never complains." At the sound of her name, the dog lifted her head from her paws and jumped down from her place on the bed, coming over and sitting with her shoulder pressed into Ontari's knees. She looked up at Clarke, and Clarke could swear that she was being challenged somehow. "You can say hi," Ontari said. "She's not working."

"I—" Clarke started, but Ontari interrupted with a command to the dog.

"Say hello, Echo."

Echo obediently raised her paw, and Clarke leaned down to 'shake' it, dropping it quickly because it all seemed so weird. 

"I'm sorry I texted in the middle of the night," Ontari said. "I couldn't sleep. Or... I did sleep, but I woke up again."

"It's fine," Clarke said. "I wasn't sleeping either."

Ontari nodded and went over to her bed, sitting on the edge of it. Clarke sat on the other bed in the room, facing her, not sure what she was supposed to say or do in this situation. Like Ontari had said, they barely knew each other. Even in their other life, she wasn't anyone Clarke ever felt like she knew well. Ontari had kept herself to herself a lot of the time, never seeming to be able to fully relax or trust anyone except Echo. 

The silence between them hung heavy, pressing down like a weight, compressing the air out of Clarke's lungs so even if she'd wanted to say something, it felt like it would have been impossible to draw enough breath to force the words out. 

"They're not dreams, are they?" Ontari asked, a second before it became unbearable. "Not _just_ dreams."

"No," Clarke said softly. "They're not."

"You have them too."

"I do."

Ontari frowned, burying her fingers in Echo's ruff and scratching between her shoulders. "We've known each other before."

"We did," Clarke agreed. "Not well, but we knew each other." She couldn't help a slight smile. "We argued a lot. We didn't agree on the course the world should take when we put it back together."

Ontari's lips pressed together like she was trying not to smile. "I would apologize, but I doubt I would actually be sorry."

"You never were," Clarke said. "And sometimes you were right. Sometimes you weren't, but sometimes I wasn't either. We usually found a way to meet in the middle, with the help of others."

"Luna," Ontari said. 

"She was one of them," Clarke said. "We had a council."

"You were the leader?" This time it was a question, but only barely.

"We were all leaders of our people," Clarke said. "There wasn't just one person in charge." She hesitated, then added, "People would sometimes defer to me, though, as if I was."

It was probably just coincidence – it had to be coincidence – but for the first time Ontari's eyes met and held hers. "Because you were hers."

"Because I was hers," Clarke agreed. 

Silence fell again, and Clarke fidgeted with a loose thread in the comforter. She didn't know what to do with her hands, or really any part of her, right now, and the bedspread was old and worn and wouldn't really be any worse for the wear if she managed to snap the thread and get rid of it. 

"I'm afraid of the dark," Ontari said. "Isn't that strange? I didn't used to be, but now I am."

"But—" Clarke started, but Ontari wasn't finished. 

"When I could still see, I loved darkness. Now that everything is dark most of the time, I hate it. And the things they say about losing one sense sharpening your others? I'm pretty sure that's bullshit. It certainly didn't work that way for me. There are times when I feel like all of my senses have been dulled, and it's the worst feeling in the world. I don't know what brings it on, but I wish it would stop. It's like having an out-of-body experience while trapped in your own body."

Clarke shivered. She couldn't fully imagine the sensation, or really imagine it at all, but she wondered if that was what it felt like to Lexa early on? She'd never said anything, never complained. But of course she didn't. That wasn't what the Commander did. She had been taught that love was weakness, but along with that Clarke was sure she'd been taught a lot of other things were weakness too.

"Having Echo helps," Ontari added. "She gives me a way to ground myself, remind myself I'm real."

"She always did," Clarke said softly, without meaning for the words to come out out loud. She didn't even know for sure if they were true or not, but from the moments she'd observed between the two, probably when they thought no one was around to see or notice, she'd gotten the sense that Echo was one of the main reasons Ontari managed to actually cope with her blindness in a world where any kind of disability was a potentially life-threatening disadvantage.

Ontari's head snapped up, but she didn't meet Clarke's eyes. Maybe she tried, but she missed, looking just over her left shoulder instead. "What?"

"In the life you dream of, the one that's not a dream... Echo was a girl. A woman. Royal guard to Ice Nation, but her loyalty went to you when you lost your sight and everything fell apart. As far as I know, she was at your side more often than not for the rest of your lives."

Ontari tipped her face down toward the dog, her hand stopped mid-stroke on her neck. "Well that makes this awkward," she quipped. When she tried to pull her hand away, though, the dog nudged her nose under her palm and tossed her head as if she was trying to flip Ontari's hand back to where it had been.

"I don't think she's a person trapped in a dog's body," Clarke said, as if that would help. "I think she's really a dog."

Ontari didn't say anything, but after a few seconds she went back to petting Echo. "Tell me what you want." 

Clarke sighed. It was the middle of the night and she hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep in the last several days. "Your blood," she said. "I need your blood."

Ontari pulled her hand back like she'd been burned. "Why?"

"Because it's the only thing that might save her."

Ontari looked down at her right hand, the fingers of the left wrapped around her wrist, her thumb rubbing over her pulse. " _Heda_."

"Lexa."

"She's like me."

"And Luna. There may be others, but if there are, we don't know where to find them, and they might still be children," Clarke said. "She's... she's not always stone. She's not always a statue. She's trapped in there. We're trying to get her out."

"And you think my blood will help."

"We _know_ your blood will help," Clarke corrected. "We gave her some of Luna's blood, and it gave her an entire extra day. We're hoping if we can give her more, we can buy her more time. Maybe reverse it altogether."

"No," Ontari said. 

Clarke blinked. She had expected questions, doubts... but not outright refusal. "No?"

"No," Ontari repeated. "That's not my responsibility. _She_ is not my responsibility."

"You're right," Clarke said. "She's not." Never mind the fact that if the roles were reversed, she knew Lexa would do what she could to save Ontari. Lexa _had_ done what she could to save her, by refusing to let her donate more marrow when the effect it was having became clear. "I'm sorry I bothered you." She stood up. "I'll let myself out."

She paused for a second at the door, hoping against hope that Ontari would change her mind, would call her back. She didn't. Maybe it was spiteful, but just before she closed the door behind herself, Clarke turned off the lights, leaving Ontari alone in the dark.

* * *

"On the house," Luna said, sliding a large coffee across the counter to Clarke. "You look like hell."

"She said no," Clarke said. 

"Oh." Luna's mouth twisted into a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Clarke asked. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You're helping."

"I'm sorry this means it might take longer," Luna said. 

"It _means_ it might not happen at all," Clarke said. "Maybe it was never going to work anyway. You bought her a day. Would another unit buy her another day? Then what? We get 72 hours out of the month instead of eight, and we call it enough? We call that a life?" She squeezed her cup too hard and the lip popped off, spilling scalding liquid over her hand. She dropped the cup and it splashed all over the floor, soaking into the hem of her jeans. " _Fuck!_ " she yelled, loud enough that everyone in the place turned to look at her, which just made her angrier. "What the fuck are you all looking at?" she demanded. 

Luna came around the counter and grabbed her, pulling her into the bathroom and pinning her against the wall there until she stopped thrashing. She turned on the tap cold and put Clarke's hand under it, easing the pain of the burn, but only as long as it stayed under the flow. "You need to sleep," she said gently. "You can't just keep pushing yourself and pushing yourself. It won't help her."

"I don't have anywhere _to_ sleep," Clarke said. 

Luna caught her eye in the mirror, one arm wrapped around her waist, her chin propped against Clarke's shoulder as she kept her hand under the water. "Why can't you go home?" she asked.

"Because _she_ is there," Clarke said. 

Luna blinked. "I thought you said you took her back to Trigeda House before—"

"I did," Clarke said. "I don't mean physically. Just... everywhere I look now is somewhere that she was, and isn't anymore. I thought... if it might be the last chance we had, I thought it would be better, but it's not. It's not better. And it will never _be_ better. This is... this is my life now." Her shoulders slumped. "This is as good as it gets."

"No," Luna said. "No, I don't think that's true."

Clarke wanted to snap at her, wanted to argue, but she couldn't find the right words to tell her how wrong she was. Her anger felt suddenly distant, like she could skim its surface with her fingertips but she couldn't quite grab hold. She closed her eyes and let herself be held up, sagging against Luna until she turned off the tap and gently patted her hand dry. 

"I'll give you the keys to my place," Luna said. "You can sleep there."

"You don't have to do that," Clarke said. "I was just being... melodramatic. I'll be fine."

"Maybe," Luna said. "But it will make it easier for me to check on you later."

"I don't need—"

"Lexa asked me to look out for you," Luna said. "Let me get you my keys. It's not far." 

Clarke nodded, too tired suddenly to argue. She followed Luna out of the bathroom and accepted her keys and a scrap of paper with her address, and then a hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking the few blocks to the building where Luna lived. Clarke dragged herself up the stairs and twisted the key in the lock. She barely had time to register anything about the space before she collapsed face down on the sea-colored quilt and was out.

* * *

Luna turned and found herself face to face with the dark, unseeing eyes of the only other Nightblood she knew of. She managed not to gasp or stumble back, even though Ontari was well within her personal space, with a dog that didn't look altogether thrilled to see her in striking distance of the artery in her leg. 

"What can I get for you?" she asked. 

"Where's Clarke?"

"Home," Luna said, not feeling compelled to specify whose home. "Sleeping, I hope. She hasn't been doing much of that."

"She can join the club," Ontari said. 

"Coffee, then?" Luna asked, and began to fix it without waiting for Ontari to answer, giving her the same thing she'd ordered the day before, along with a cream cheese brownie (if she didn't remember all of the details about the Ice Nation girl, she at least remembered she had a sweet tooth). She also grabbed a dog biscuit from a tin they kept under the counter and led her to a table in the corner. 

"Is it all right if I give your dog a treat?" she asked. 

Ontari sat down, dropping the handle of the harness. "Echo, sit," she said. The dog sat. "Say hello." She lifted her paw, and Luna took it (she would need to wash her hands before going back to work) and then let it go. "Okay," Ontari said. "Now you can give it to her."

Luna offered the dog the treat, hoping Echo didn't decide to try to take a bite out of her fingers while she was at it. She didn't. She was almost dainty as she accepted the treat and curled up under the table to crunch down on it. 

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Luna asked. 

Ontari shook her head, and Luna went back to work... after washing her hands. She kept an eye on the girl in between customers, curiosity finally getting the better of her when she was still there half an hour later, long after both the coffee and brownie were gone. She finally told her coworkers she was taking her break and went over to her table. "Everything all right?"

"No," Ontari said. "Everything isn't all right, and you know it." Lines creased her forehead as she scowled. "Why the hell should I care?" she asked. "Why should it matter to me whether the Commander is flesh or stone? Do you think she's going to save this world, too?"

Luna sat down across from her. "That's not why we're doing this," she said. "That's not why we asked you for help."

"Then why?"

"Because Clarke loves her," Luna said. "Because she loves Clarke. Because they didn't have a chance the last time. Because Lexa sacrificed herself to save as many people as she could. Because she was the Commander and it was her duty to her people to do whatever it took to keep them safe. Because she saved us both from the same fate."

"I didn't ask her to."

"No," Luna said. "You didn't have to." 

"I'm not going to return the favor. I'm not going to sacrifice myself to—"

"No one is asking you to sacrifice yourself," Luna said. "We're asking you to donate blood. No more than would be taken if you were to donate to the Red Cross. That's all."

"What's in it for me?" Ontari asked. 

"Nothing," Luna admitted. "There's nothing in it for you except knowing you did something good for someone."

Ontari turned her face away. "I guess I don't find that a very compelling reason," she said, "considering that apparently the only person who gave a shit about me is now a dog."

Luna closed her eyes for a moment. "I understand," she said, even though she didn't. "We won't bother you again." She pushed back her chair and walked away, going into the back room so she didn't have to deal with Ontari again, because if she did she might not be able to swallow back her anger. She had spent so much of her life angry, and she'd thought she'd managed to work past it, but now it was rising up and burning away all of her calm like it had never existed. 

Maybe she shouldn't be surprised. _Azgeda_ had never cared about anything but _Azgeda_. She was just glad Ontari had never had the opportunity to become the Commander, to lead without anyone to rein in her impulses, because it would have spelled disaster for everyone. Whatever she remembered, and it didn't seem to be much, she apparently didn't recall the fact that when she'd thought beyond just herself and her people, when she'd given a little to get most of what she wanted, people had actually listened to and respected her. Now she was back to being a petulant child.

But it was her right. It was her blood, and she didn't have to do anything for anyone she didn't want to. If there was one thing Luna had learned, it was that it wasn't really possible to teach people how to care about other people. If giving life back to someone who'd never had much of a chance to live it wasn't a good enough reason, what could she say? If giving love back to someone whose heart had been shattered by the loss of it wasn't a good enough reason, Luna doubted she would be able to find one that was. 

Even an appeal to her ego, to the fact that she was one of only two people who could save Lexa wasn't likely to be enough. 

Time to let it go. 

When she finally emerged from the back room Ontari was gone.

Luna went back to her apartment at the end of her shift, letting herself in with the spare key she kept hidden in the glove compartment of her car, since she'd been smart enough to only hand over the house keys to Clarke and not everything else. She shut the door quietly behind her and turned to see Clarke passed out face down on her bed. She grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over her, then pulled her phone out of her bag to check her messages.

 **Raven:** Have you seen Clarke? Haven't heard from her since she said Lexa was gone. Went by her place and she's not there.

 **Raven:** Hi, by the way. Sorry. How was your day?

Luna felt the corner of her mouth twitch up, not quite a smile. 

**Luna:** Hi. My day was pretty terrible, honestly. Clarke is here. She came in this morning pretty wrecked. I sent her to sleep.

 **Luna:** Here being my place.

 **Luna:** Don't be jealous. 😉

 **Raven:** Sorry your day was shit. Not surprised she's not sleeping. Doubt I would be either.

 **Luna:** Ontari said no. Came in again today to make sure she told me no, too.

 **Raven:** Shit. What now?

 **Luna:** We just keep doing what we're doing, I guess.

 **Raven:** If it's not enough?

 **Luna:** I don't know. I don't want to borrow trouble.

 **Raven:** It's just some blood. Way to be selfish. 

**Raven:** Not you. Obviously. Ontair.

 **Raven:** *Ontari

 **Luna:** I know. It's just blood, but it's her blood.

 **Raven:** Anything I can do to help with your shitty day?

 **Luna:** I'll be fine.

 **Raven:** Doesn't answer the question.

 **Luna:** It's the only answer I have to give you.

 **Raven:** Right. Well if you think of anything, let me know.

 **Luna:** I will.

She wouldn't. She didn't know how to accept help when it was offered, only how to give it. She would figure things out on her own because she didn't know any other way to do things. Letting people in only led to losing them, except...

... she didn't let herself think about that. It seemed unfair, all things considered. 

But it didn't mean she didn't wish just as much as Clarke did for a second chance.

* * *

Clarke woke up slowly, dizzy and disoriented. Her arms shook as she pushed herself upright and she looked around, blinking at the unfamiliar décor. She heard movement and turned her head to see where it was coming from.

"You're awake," Luna said. "I made you a sandwich."

"Thanks," Clarke said, and meant it, because she couldn't remember the last time she'd consumed anything other than coffee. She tried to stand up but found her knees were like jelly, so she sank back down on the edge of the bed and accepted the plate she was handed. She devoured the sandwich in a few bites, pressing her finger to the plate to pick up the last few crumbs and licking them away.

"I can make you another," Luna said, sounding amused, "if you're still hungry."

"Please," Clarke said. "And thank you."

"Of course," Luna said. She took back Clarke's plate and returned it a few minutes later with another sandwich and a glass of water, which Clarke gulped down like she'd been wandering the desert and her canteen had run out hours ago.

Once her stomach had stopped growling and she felt a little less parched, she was able to stand up and bring the plate to the sink in the tiny kitchen herself. "I should go," she said, feeling suddenly awkward. "I'm sorry I—"

"Don't be sorry," Luna said. "Please. We all fall apart sometimes."

"I have a hard time imagining you falling apart," Clarke said. "You're so calm all the time, so collected."

Luna smiled slightly and shook her head. "That's what I want you to see," she said. "It doesn't mean that's how I actually feel. It's how I _want_ to feel, and most of the time it works, but sometimes the anger creeps up and I think, 'Here we are. It's all over now.'"

Clarke couldn't imagine Luna angry. What would that even look like? But she wasn't sure it was her place to ask; it seemed like too personal a question somehow. Luna seemed like the sort of person who wore their heart on their sleeve, but how well did Clarke know her, really? And how much of what she knew was this Luna and not the other one, and how much alike were they, and how different? Was she the same person in this world she had been in that one? Clarke certainly wasn't the same person here as she had been there, because she didn't have to be. She'd never had to make a life or death choice in this world, never had to decide something for the greater good. She'd never even had a pet she'd had to decide when they were suffering so much that the humane thing to do would be to let them go. But the other Clarke had. Not with a pet, but a person.

She shivered, remembering the feel of the point of a knife sinking into burned flesh, severing the carotid so a boy's life drained away in a matter of minutes. She'd sung him to sleep... only it wasn't sleep, and it had cascaded a whole series of events...

"Are you all right?" Luna asked. "You just went pale."

Clarke shook her head to clear it, then realized Luna might take it as an answer to her question and nodded instead. "I'm fine," she said. "Really. Just... remembering."

Luna nodded like she understood, and maybe she did. She'd been forced to kill her own brother, after all. Clarke couldn't imagine what sort of scar that left on a person's psyche. "If there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

"I'll be okay," Clarke said. "What time is it?"

"Two," Luna said. "A little after."

"Shit." She'd missed her classes, which made two days in a row she hadn't shown up. She found her phone and pulled it out, and there was a text from Maya asking if she was going to be in today. She quickly replied that she still wasn't feeling great and she might still be contagious, but she would try to make it in tomorrow.

A few messages from Raven checking in on her... she would answer those later. 

There were no messages from Ontari.

Not that she'd expected any, but part of her had been hoping, she guessed, because she felt a pang of disappointment when she scrolled through her messages and the last thing from the girl was her room number.

She'd probably checked out by now, and anyway, it was over. She'd said no, and that had to be the end. Clarke couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to do.

"I'm gonna go," she said, standing up on legs that were mostly steady. "Thank you. Again." 

"Any time," Luna said. She accepted her keys, which Clarke had found lying on the bed near where she'd collapsed. "If you need anything, please let me know."

Clarke nodded and went to the door, fastening her coat around her. "The same goes for you," she said belatedly, but better late than never. "If you need anything."

Luna smiled, nodded, but said nothing, and Clarke went down the stairs and made her way slowly home, where she began the process of cleaning up the mess she and Lexa had made and ignored in favor of losing themselves in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True Story: A friend of a friend has a guide dog named Echo, and I just couldn't resist. The real life Echo is a black standard poodle, so at least I made Ontari's Echo a little more badass than that. 😁


End file.
